


A Stolen Ring

by bluejazzberrys



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 100k+, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Boys In Love, Chaptered, Demons, Dragons, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Dumb Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, FWB, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Libraries, Light Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Stupidity, Supernatural Elements, Underage Drinking, Yikes, again. it's complicated. youll see, and they we roommates, it's complicated - Freeform, kind of, light angst who???? this is full angst baby, youll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-03-09 11:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 106,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejazzberrys/pseuds/bluejazzberrys
Summary: Dan’s not normal. Why?He's not human, he has a mysterious ring, and he hates Phil Lester. They have a strange past, one filled with bullying and avoidance, but when Dan turns into an incubus, everything changes. He struggles with his identity and cries himself to sleep most nights, yearning to be normal. And somehow the universe makes it worse by bringing him and Phil together - in the most literal sense.-UPDATES ON FRIDAYS!





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Myths and Monsters](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/483430) by storybooksandfairytails. 



> aaaa it's finally here i've been working on this fic for AGES. like, literal months. it's 100k+ words rn. what have i done. 
> 
> anyway, for plot purposes, supernatural humans can't perceive other supernatural humans, with few exceptions. (Apparently they can tell whether someone is supernatural or not—won't be happening in this story). The insp for this fic comes from a nalu (natsu x lucy) fanfic called “Of Myths and Monsters.” It's a great work of art, but unfortunately incomplete. This fic has similar themes (supernatural humans, incubi, mythical creatures) but it's slightly different. Anyway, enough about that. The website Dan uses is a real website, so if you want the link, here it is: http://freaksrp.wikia.com/wiki/Cambions.  
> Warnings: homophobic slurs, suicidal thoughts, vomit warning, graphic violence 
> 
> Or the incubus!dan au that no one asked for 
> 
> Please note that the location of dnp is meant to be in an unspecified city in america. 
> 
> P.s. Even though dnp are technically younger in this fic than their current selves irl, I'm still giving Dan curly hair and Phil a quiff. Just think of it as a different timeline. Tylybb  
> Enjoy!

"Fancy ring you got there," the lady drawls, her voice edging into the seductive territory.

Dan's jaw clenches, "How much for the book?"

She arches a delicate eyebrow, "How much for the ring?"

"It's not for sale," he grits.

"Darling, I'll give you the book for free." She flips her silky black hair over her pale shoulder, "the price is just that ring. Where'd you nick it from? You don't look like a thief," she narrows her piercing, nearly onyx eyes, which soon filter with recognition, "No, I bet you've just been turned." Her gasp rings in Dan’s ears. Those beady eyes rove over his body. His skin crawls. “A late bloomer,” she muses, leaning on an open palm, “turned at the prime age of, what, 19?”

Nineteen. How did she guess his age so accurately? Is she some sort of psychic? He takes a sharp breath and his hand balls into a fist. "That's none of your business,” he snaps, before repeating, "The ring's not for sale.”

"Ah, what a shame," she flicks open the ancient book, ignoring the poof of dust particles that suspend into the air. Her crimson-painted nails are glossy in the dim light as she trails them down the yellowing, wrinkled pages. "It would've fetched a rather high price at the black market." She flicks her gaze back up, and Dan tries his best not to fidget under her intense stare. His stomach feels like a pit of squirming snakes.

He releases a strained sigh. "Listen, can I just please have the book, and then we can be on our merry way."

The lady stands abruptly, sending Dan's heart skyrocketing. She dusts off her hands and sends the crippled book a look of mild disgust. "I'm afraid that won't be happening anymore, _Howell_.” She shuts the ancient book closed with a finalized _thump,_ “Deal’s off. Anyone in the demon community recognizes your name anywhere. You're either friend or foe, and you can guess which one you are today, love."

Dan’s heart races as his head fogs with lightheadedness. He hopes she doesn't notice the drops of sweat that are dotting along his forehead. Her eyes are glinting and her cheshire-cat grin has his chest tightening.

He needs to get out of here. Now.

Immediately, he scrambles for the rusty golden knob on the wooden door, but a pale hand snags onto his wrist. Dan tries to squirm out of her iron-grip, but it's fruitless. He turns around, but instead of the dark eyes of the woman, he's met with deep green, iridescent ones.

"Good boy, Ethaniel," she purrs.

"Of course, Lady Syndra."

Warning bells blare in Dan’s ears. His chest is heaving and his vision is blurring. He just wanted an informational book for his own lost, confused soul. Why did he have to stumble into this demon cult?

"Now, Howell, hand over the ring, and you won't taste my nails today." She tilts her head condescendingly, "how does that sound, hm?"

Dan bites his lip and its coppery taste chases away an inevitable panic attack; he only has a split-second to make his decision. It's a cheap move, he supposes, but all's fair in love and war.

With all of his power, he knees Ethaniel in the crotch _hard,_ causing him to double over, and then swiftly darts through the door. He manages to hear a shrill, "Fucking rat!" and a pained groan (most likely from Ethaniel, which makes Dan wince). His heart is still thundering by the time he makes it home and falls face-first on his monochrome-checkered duvet. Deeply inhaling the familiar scent of his sheets, he listens to his racing heart to slow down to a steady beat. It takes a few minutes.

Never again, he thinks. He’ll never wear the ring in public again. He swallows thickly around the ball of cotton building in his throat. His face feels blotched with heat and his skin is sweaty and feels uncomfortable, like it's stretched too tightly over his bones. A few moments later, he feels the inevitable sensation of hot tears welling in his eyes and he releases a choked sob over his pillow, "Fucking _demons_.”

 

_Three days earlier…_

 

As the pink streaks of the sunset fade into the dusky indigo hues of the sky, Dan feels it. He’s casually scrolling through tumblr, mindlessly liking arbitrary posts, the satisfying red heart popping up on his dash—when suddenly, the navy blue background blurs; he can't read the text anymore. He frowns and blinks hard, but the screen is a hazy mass of blues, whites, and blacks. He momentarily wonders if his vision has failed. Perhaps he needs glasses.

But then the room bursts in a wave of heat and everything is suddenly too hot. Goose flesh erupts along his arms, crawling into his vibrating skin. He feels his stomach lurch as a tide of nausea passes through him. His heart jack-hammers in his chest, and his palms are sweaty against his mouse mad, fogging his keyboard. He abruptly leaps out of his comfy position on the couch, laptop forgotten. White explosions flicker in his vision before fading to black.

His senses are amplified as blood roars in his ears, and a moment later, he feels sharp pain rocket through him, forcing his eyes closed. His whole body tingles from head to toe, and—when did he get on the ground?

Why is everything so goddamn loud? He can hear murmuring from a discussions downstairs, he can hear cars droning about in the city, he can hear the rustling of a rabbit, he can hear the soft snores of his neighbor. He can hear _everything_. It sounds like a hoard of people are screaming in his ears—or maybe it's his own voice—and his head pounds with a deafening cacophony of noises, and he can only wriggle on the floor in agony, pain pulsing through his skull in shock-waves. Maybe this is what it feels to be zapped by a lightning strike. When his vision finally clears, he’s almost blinded by the previously dim lights of his apartment; now they’re too bright.

Another ripple of nausea wracks through his body, and Dan is rushing to the bathroom on shaky limbs, his chest heaving the whole way there. It's unbearably hot. Vision swimming, he dumps the contents of his dinner into the toilet as tears prickle his eyes. His stomach shifts uncomfortably and he heaves out another painful stream of vomit, the wet smacking echoing in his ringing ears.

Is he dying? Is this the end? He can picture his gravestone, _Daniel Howell, sudden death after spending too much time on the tumb’s. Rest in peace._ He barely has time to laugh wetly before another round of pain knocks into his clenching stomach, causing him to grind his teeth together and take hefty lungfuls of air. Then he gasps as he catches his reflection in the mirror.

_What the hell is happening…?_

It's surreal as he stares into the dark holes of his eyes. Glittering ruby-red irises stare back blankly at him. His pupils are black slits. The normally white sclera is replaced with obsidian pools. Those aren't his eyes. His heart plunges to his stomach, and he can feel the familiar risings of panic clawing into his chest. Hands shaking, he reaches out to touch his reflection, half-wishing the mirror will ripple and dissolve like in one of those strange dreams he’s had. It doesn't. It's rigid and cool beneath his clammy palms. He snatches his hands back, trying not to hyperventilate.

No no no no. This is a dream. It has to be. He pinches himself, a little too hard, and hisses, properly hisses. What the _hell_.

As if his eyes weren't enough, his body suddenly throbs, and he’s engulfed by another swell of pain. Gripping the edge of the surface around the sink, he groans a string of profanities as the pain dulls, and he’s left feeling bone-numb. When he re-opens his eyes—no, not _his_ eyes, he tells himself—he gasps as he sees his nails are long and pointed—are they painted black? He skims a finger over them and yelps as a sliver of blood trails from the curious appendage. Definitely not human nails. Talons? Before he can process the question, he feels a buzzing on his injured finger. He watches unmovingly with stolen breath as the skin zips itself back together in a matter of seconds, wound healing. It's like it didn't even happen. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe this is all a terrible, terrible nightmare and he just needs to wake up.

Looking back into the mirror, he notices his face is sickly pale; his skin gleams with cold sweat and dried tears. A strip of blood dribbles from his lip. When did he cut his lip? He habitually smooths his tongue over the small cut, and the familiar metallic flavor floods his mouth. Heart drumming, he leans over the sink to inspect his teeth—his chest tightens when the smooth marble around the sink sizzles and cracks underneath his newfound strength—and gasps as he catches a sharp incisor glinting back at him. Fangs? No. Those aren't his teeth. He’s hallucinating, definitely. He’s always biting his lip; this just happens to be one of those times he bit it too hard. It has to be. Dan stares down at his charred sink, and a blend of misery and curiosity engulfs him. Why would the marble around the sink crack when he leaned forward? Why doesn't he have control over his strength? _Strength?_ He has to be dreaming. Before he can tell reaffirm himself, however, yet another physical anomaly catches his attention.

Never mind that—never mind any of that. Are those _horns_ ?! His trembling hands fly up to his brown curls, skating over two noticeable, curved bumps on the top of his head. His stomach churns. _What the everloving fuck is going on._

Then his vision is blurring and the world is tilting on its side. He’s enveloped by monochrome static, and his body goes lax as he meets the cool tiles of his bathroom floor, vision fading black.

***

When he awakens, he’s disoriented and his head is aching, but he feels relatively cooler. His nails are blunt. _Normal._ He reaches up to smooth a hand over his tangled curls, and he meets soft hair. No horns. _Normal._ He puffs out a slow breath and stands on shaky legs to look in the mirror. He’s met with his familiar amber eyes. No red irises. _Normal._ He almost cries in relief. His heart rate slows and he closes his eyes, mind reeling.

Fever dream? He glances back in the mirror, relishing the appearance of his brown eyes staring back at him. But when he notices the broken, charred marble around the sink, his stomach drops through the floor. He sucks in a breath. Not a dream.

He’s tempted to call the police, but he freezes when he realizes what he would sound like: _hi, yes, hello, I have a real emergency. I turned into some kind of super crazy devil-monster with red eyes and horns and talons and all this super crazy shit, and it was super painful and scary. And I think I'm super dying. Send help._ His heart sinks; no one would believe him. They’d probably send him to a mental asylum. What if they experiment on him? A shudder passes through his body, and his skin crawls with the horrid idea. Perhaps he should stop watching all those X-Men movies.

He can call a friend, he thinks. _As if you have any of those,_ a cheeky voice in his mind drawls. Right. He sighs and checks the time. It's almost three am. No one would be awake right now, anyway. Was he out for two hours?

His muddled brain is exhausted with his thoughts, and it's probably best to sleep, he reasons. But his mind is racing a mile a minute, and he knows he won't be able to sleep—not for a while.

The internet is always his closest companion during desperate times. And boy, does he have a lot of searching to do. After rinsing his face in the sink—he hopes it’s still fully functional—he opens his laptop and frantically starts searching, and he already knows he’s not getting a wink of sleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honey, you got a big storm comin'
> 
> tumblr @bluejazzberrys


	2. Chapter 2

Phil stumbles as he jostles into a shoulder, a sharp pang rippling through his right bicep. His heavy textbooks—he never would have guessed that textbooks were required for an art course, but here he is—fly out of his arms, pencils and paintbrushes clacking noisily onto the thin-carpeted floor. Phil cringes. He hopes the thud of his books wasn’t as loud as it had sounded.

“Fuck!” An oddly familiar voice hollers, drawing the attention of nearby students.

Well. So much for not being noticed.

Phil winces as he clutches his arm and glances up from the mess on the floor. He’s habitually about to say sorry, but his frazzled apology dies on his lips. He knows the wide shoulders, the mess of chestnut curls. A single golden earring glints in the afternoon sun. Dan Howell. Of all people. Phil bristles, fingers clenching. Why is it always Dan Howell?

They must have been thinking along the same lines because a moment later, Dan whirls around and digs an accusatory finger in Phil’s chest, “ _Lester._ Of course,” he snarls, dangerously close to Phil’s face, “Clumsy freak,” he spits, brown eyes glowing with unbridled fury. Phil’s heart thrums underneath his shaking finger and he wonders why Dan’s face is flushed. His confusion further increases when Dan’s features merge into a look of utter terror, but the look is gone so fast that Phil thinks he must have imagined it. Before Phil can formulate a proper response, Dan is storming away from him, and Phil is left in a bustling hallway with loose papers fluttering in the breeze of students’ feet.

He feels relatively colder than a moment ago and a frown creeps onto his face. It takes all of his will-power to ignore Dan’s commentary as he scrabbles to shove his belongings into his confounded bag.

And besides, that was… different. Howell would usually taunt him a little more. He had ran away instead - more like stormed away in a fit of irrational rage, but still. What was _that?_ He couldn't care less though. They have a rather strange history, to put simply.

Before Phil can spiral into the string of monochrome flashbacks, he hears a lofty sneer, “How is it possible for someone to be _that_ clumsy, dude?” He whips his head around and shoots a glare, and notices it’s a few of Dan’s dim-witted, obnoxious (possibly fake) friends. Of course.

They snicker when they realize they’ve been noticed and saunter out of the hall without another word. Phil huffs out a sigh and returns back to unceremoniously shoveling his art supplies into his bag. It's the first day. It can only get worse.

***

To say that Dan is having a bad day is an understatement. Knocking into Phil Lester is the least of his concerns. His own reaction was far more baffling; the butterflies that had erupted in his stomach are definitely something he doesn't want to analyze at the moment. As he opens the door to the bathroom, he decides he has more urgent matters to think about.

Like how he found out he was a cambion last week. After his inexplicable demonic transformation, he had searched the internet in a frantic panic, trembling fingers skating across the keyboard. He typed out a few odd searches, and finally settled on an questionably acceptable article.

 _  
_ _Cambions are a supernatural race of half demon and half humans...A cambion can only be born from a demon who has a physical form or a human vessel. Additionally, only human females can bear cambion children...The only way a cambion is able to remain in the human world is if a human female is seduced by a demon. The mother will eventually conceive a child, and this child will be born. Every time a human has sex with a demon, it will result in a birth._

 

Dan’s brain short-circuits. He takes a moment to reread the paragraph.

_...only human females can bear cambion children…_

Wait a minute, his father was a demon? He huffs, _how convenient_ ; his father has been dead for the past 12 years. His early memories of him are frustratingly brief - when he thinks of him, he can only see a towering man with intense eyes. He exhales, tries to breathe, then continues reading:

 

_All cambions appear completely human and possess no "attraction to do bad things.” However, most cambions struggle with who they are and what they are the progeny of and struggle with other abilities that don't always make doing the right thing as tempting as doing the wrong thing._

Dan snorts. That explains why he's such a dick to everyone. He has a reputation of being a notorious asshole—especially to people like Phil Lester. He bullied Phil through all of last year. Dan had been a freshman then. He can't help it though; something about Phil just throws him off. If Phil’s in close vicinity, his whole body itches to punch his beautiful face in. Dan’s breath catches—beautiful? What the hell? _Ugly, rather_ , his brain amends habitually.

Regardless, he was always prepared to go to hell. Probably a literal hell now, filled with demons and devils and who knows what else. He swallows thickly—why is he still reading?! Of course he’s not a freaking demon-cambion thingy. He's a regular human. No demons. No cambions. Human. His dad died of heart failure. None of this mythology is real. It's called mythology for good reason: they're myths. Right? But the cursor treacherously scrolls down, and he’s clicking on the next sub-heading, _Characteristics_ , without a second thought:

 

_Cambions appear no different than humans. They can be tall and lanky, or stout and muscular. Though, as a rule of thumb, all cambions are attractive to some degree._

 

Okay, so what if he’s a _slightly_ above the average height? A small, reasonable voice in his head tells him he's ridiculously tall; _slightly_ is a fat lie. He ignores it. He has genetics to thank for his height. Then he realizes he also has genetics to thank for his hypothetical cambion identity. He refuses to belief it.

And surely, he’s not attractive.

A long sigh escapes his mouth. This doesn't look promising at all, he thinks as he reads the next paragraph:

 

_One of the only ways to tell a cambion apart from humans, if you are a human without the means to definitely discern this, is to watch their eyes if you suspect them of using their powers. The eyes of cambion who uses specific powers, beyond just their normal physical qualities, will change in color, usually to a red color in all the places normal human eyes are colored, and black in the places the eye is normally white._

 

Dan gulps around his cotton-filled throat. His heart pounds. Those weren't his eyes. It was a dream. It _must_ have been a dream. After re-convincing himself and calming his palpitating heart for a few minutes, he takes a deep breath and rereads the paragraph.

He's about to slam his laptop shut when another heading catches his eye, and he tries to tell his body to stop acting on curious impulses, but it's hopeless. There it is, glaring at him in bold text: _powers_ _and_ _abilities_. He has powers?! Certainly, he would've noticed if he had demonic abilities. Right? Certainly. Although, skimming over the first ability, he doesn't seem so sure anymore.

 

_Regeneration._

 

To his horror, everything from his childhood slots in place. He remembers when he had accidentally burned his hand on the stove. He had only been ten years old, and he had wailed in agony as his mother cooed over him, running the blistering skin under cold, soothing water—only to find that what should've been a third degree burn was rendered to a small pinkening of skin. His mother’s face had initially flashed in a look of wondrous confusion, before a horrified recognition filtered through her ochre eyes. In the next moment, a melancholic smile had graced her delicate features, and her orbs had shined with heartbreak.

She had clutched him to her bosom, rocking him back and forth in her tight grasp as she kissed the top of his head, “My baby, my poor son. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Dan’s face had been streaked with dried tears as he reached a hand up to clutch her wavy brown locks. He had tried to comfort her, “Don’t worry mummy, I'm fine, see?” He beamed, brandishing his wrist in front of her. His wound was impossibly faded, a blush-pink against his healing skin. This only caused his mother to let out another wrack of hiccups as strings of apologies burbled from her lips.

He wasn't able to recognize the complexity of her emotions at the time, and he had continued smoothing a hand over the evaporating wound and her shaking shoulders. The burn was completely gone in the next ten minutes, and neither of them spoke of it again. He had brushed her odd behavior off as a mother’s concern for her only son.

Dan blinks the memory away. Breath hitching, his heart sputters deep beneath his ribcage. Does his mother know? Can she help him? He skims over the next ability before he can process the loaded questions. There is _invulnerability_ , which is helpful (bullet wounds won't kill him), but he skips over its capabilities since he doesn't understand the other, more distracting one. _Energy drain_. Dan squints as the name blares out at him.

 

_Energy Drain - Like demons who are able to take off years of life from humans they make deals with, cambions can steal the life force from humans through physical contact. At first, most cambions struggle with this power, and it is something they initially fight with to control._

 

Dan frowns. It sounds more like a weakness than a power. Is that why he had passed out? Because he ran out of energy? It would explain a lot.

 

_In addition to the basic abilities of their parents, all cambions process some additional powers based on what type of demon their father was. This, however, is varied, and can range from telekinesis, to super strength, to illusions, and more._

 

Dan doesn't know how to feel about this. How will he control his powers? What _are_ his powers? His father’s long gone. How will he figure it out? If his father was a demon, maybe his mother will be able to help. She’ll have an explanation. Or so Dan hopes. Then he reads something that chills the blood in his veins, and the world around him crumbles down.

 

_Demons are not immortal, though they can live for a long time. Eventually, their souls grow weak, and they can't hold onto life anymore. However, demons trade the lives of mortals to increase their lifespan. Thus many of the deal maker demons have been alive for millennia._

 

It's far too painful to breathe the air trapped in his lungs. The line echoes relentlessly in his head: _eventually their souls will grow weak and they can't hold on to life anymore._ Was that how his father had died? What was the real reason for his death? ‘Coronary heart disease’ sounds like a grand hoax now . Was he unable to trade human souls? Did he mercilessly suck out their lives? His father wasn't a killer. He would've never used this… _energy drain_ power on innocent beings. Sure, his father was a fierce man, but he wasn't cruel.

Dan breathes sharply. His father was a normal human. And like normal humans do, he had a heart attack and died. Normally. That means Dan is a normal human too. He’s not a demon, he's a human. And he will never be a demon.

It was another thing he convinced himself to belief that night.

After repeating those words over in his head, Dan feels a little less choked up and less on the verge of a panic attack. Despite this, he unconsciously promises himself to visit his mother soon.

-

Dan has been standing in the bathroom for the past ten minutes. He couldn't help it; he’s still mulling over the article. Do cambions have powers that relate to arousal? It could explain the random flare of heat he felt when he was in close proximity to Phil. But do they even prey on men? Firstly, if his father was a demon, that means he preyed on human women. Secondly, he doesn't like men. Thirdly, he hates Phil. A small, whiny voice in his brain tells him the second fact is still a _tbd_. His stomach surges and he shoves those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Sighing heavily, he dips his face down into the sink. The water is cool and refreshing against his annoyingly flushed skin, and his clogged mind clears a bit.

He needs to do more research before things get out of hand. But right now, he has a class to attend—something about modern art. He had decided to switch his major; he wasn't able to do law. It had been a pain to discuss with his mother, but she had ultimately relented. It was his life, after all. Dan represses a wince as he remembers the lengthy discussion. He doesn't want to linger on it. That was just the past now. Law be damned. Modern art, here he comes.

***

Phil looks for a seat in the back of the classroom. White light spills into the room from the drape-less windows, illuminating the dust hanging in the air, as well as the gold wooden tables. A stale, earthy concoction of ceramic tiles, baked clay, turpentine, and acrylic paint fills in the room. His shoulders ease. He's been in an art major since the beginning of university; he’s always loved it. It's why he’s decided to stay an extra year - although he also has to stay to fulfill his course requirements for linguistics.

Students are milling around like lost sheep, shuffling to find a favorable spot. Like Phil, most of them have crowded towards tables in the back.

The professor is a tall, thin lady with a stern face, shoulder-length, chestnut hair that seems to be graying, and thin-rimmed, oval glasses. She stands behind her desk, which is cluttered with an assortment of pastel crayons, stained canisters, soft lead pencils, smudged erasers, faded sponges, and grimy paint brushes. Phil can’t identify the other wooden, sharp tools that are crammed together on the large desk, but he can only guess they’re some type of stylus. On the blackboard, someone—most likely the teacher—has written, THE INTIMACY OF MODERN ART, in big, blocky letters. The dots of the i letters are replaced with hearts. Phil quirks an eyebrow at that, before dropping his supplies on the beige table and fishing for his phone. He doesn't have many friends who share his art major, but PJ has always been with him through the years. He sends him a text.

[Phil|11:56] _Where are u?_

[Peej|11:57] _Almost there_

Phil glances up. Quite a few people have filtered in now. The class starts in three minutes. Maybe he can catch PJ before class starts.

Striding down to the door, Phil reaches for the handle, but soon gasps as it's flung open before him. The person before him collides into Phil in a forceful crash. At least he’s not holding any hefty books this time, his brain adds aimlessly as he’s knocked to the ground. Stars burst in his vision and the air is sucked out of his lungs. His ears are ringing as he feels the mass above him shift around. Someone is groaning in pain. Then Phil registers it’s himself.

Hands clutch his collar and a warm breath swirls over his face, “What the fuck are _you_ doing here?!” A vicious snarl.

Phil squints up at his attacker. Finally the ringing has stopped. Dan Howell stares down at him, confusion and disbelief burning in his brown eyes. Phil’s head thumps back against the floor before he mutters, deflated, “I could say the same to you, Howell.”

“Shut up and answer the goddamn question. You better have a good reason to be here, Lester.”

Phil almost laughs, “I’m in this class, idiot.” Phil sucks in a breath as soon as the words are out. Was that too far?

“‘Fucks’ sake, you… fucking twat,” Dan shoves off of him and stalks away. Phil winces; the shove is really more of a punch. He rests on the floor blissfully for a few more moments, eyes falling shut. Well. That was unexpected. What was his problem? He wonders if Dan is falling sick. Their exchange was odd this time around too. Dan would usually say something more insensitive. Phil figures he was going easy on him since the whole class had been watching the entire encounter. Cheeks coloring with the belated realization, Phil groans again and reaches to press a hand over his throbbing head.  

“Woah, you ‘kay there, mate?”

PJ. His grasp is warm as he pulls Phil to his feet, “I'm fine. I just…” Phil subtly nudges his head over to where Dan is roaming around, and PJ’s forest eyes widen in recognition before narrowing.

“What happened?” His voice is low and conspiratorial.

A short, bitter laugh bursts from Phil’s mouth, “nothing… we bumped into each other. Again. I'd like to think I'm used to it by now, but—”

“Alright, find a seat, students!” The professor announces, interrupting their conversation. Phil leads PJ to their table and suppresses a scoff as Dan plops down on the chair in front of him. He can feel Dan glaring holes into his face as he stares blankly ahead. Phil, making an effort to stop himself from shifting his gaze down to glare back at Dan, tries focusing on the teacher’s introductory words, albeit unsuccessfully. Why did Dan even choose to sit at their table?

His question is answered in the next moment, “Fucking hell, ‘course the only spot left is on this bloody table,” Dan exhales before shoving around to face the teacher. Phil and PJ share a look.

The first day goes by smoothly, aside from the small hiccup. Chris slips in later—ever the early riser—and Dan had turned rigid and clenched his teeth. Phil couldn't have hid the smirk tugging on his lips if he tried. Something was definitely off about Dan.

The teacher, Professor Craft, has a warm voice that can turn shrilly at any second. She discusses the course material strangely though, “We will be learning about the _intimacy_ of modern art.” Something about the way she says it throws Phil off. She rattles on, “Now, this is a rather… different course. It's art, yes, but there will be times where you have to step out of your comfort zones and work with others. There are various projects, and I'm a bit curious on how you shall choose to proceed with them. Some of them are quite… erm-unique, is all.”

A nervous silence permeates through the classroom as the syllabus packets are passed out. They’ve all dealt with annoying projects before—how bad can it be?

He thoughts are interrupted when a syllabus is shoved rather rudely in his face, courtesy of Dan. Phil frowns as he grabs the crumpled paper and straightens it out. There are five units. The first two are seemingly normal, but clearly tedious: art history and art theory. It's followed by basic designs, clay, and paint. That seems fine, Phil thinks as he flicks through the packet.

Then he registers where the _intimacy_ part stems from. Fuck. No no no no. Certainly not _that_ kind of intimacy, right?

“There are only two projects,” he hears Mrs. Craft drone somewhere behind the warning bells ringing in his ears, “and they are to be done in pairs. Now, I know you stubborn twerps may not understand the meaning of _pair_ . And I’m not talking about the fruit here.” There are a few dry coughs. She smiles humorlessly before continuing, “Two people. One plus one is two,” she holds up two fingers. “Groups of _two_.” Phil wonders if she had trouble with groups in the past. But before he can finish the thought, Professor Craft adds, “No threesomes, understand?”

That has Phil choking on his spit. PJ shoots him a concerned look, which Phil reciprocates, to PJ’s confusion. _Why isn't anyone else freaking out?_ Have they bothered to read the syllabus? Of course they haven't; half the class doesn't even seem to be paying attention.

“Thanks for the clarification,” a cheeky student drawls - a girl with wavy brown hair.

Professor Craft ignores her, and starts walking down the aisle, the soft _click-click_ of her heels echoing throughout the dusty room, “Now. About the projects. That’s where the intimacy part comes in.” The silence that follows is deafening. After an agonizing pause, she continues, “as I said before, in groups of _two_ , you will have to do art with your partner. About your partner. Around your partner. On your partner. With your partner. It's a very enlightening experience, and actually quite fun—depending on your relationship, that is.”

There’s another loaded pause, and then the same cheeky student’s hand thrusts into the air, “Do we get to choose our partners?”

Of course they should, Phil thinks; it's only fair. The class seems to be understandably squeamish about the whole ordeal.

But to make matters worse, “Why, of course not,” Professor Craft chirps, “I will be choosing your partners.” The urge to slam his face onto the smooth surface of the wooden table is very strong - almost overwhelming.

“Erm,” a boy with shaved, electric blue hair asks, “how… intimate are we getting here?”

The teacher grins, “you’ll just have to wait and see, Mister Erik,” her voice is light and airy as she turns around and strolls back to her desk, “any more questions?” Phil can hear the millions of unasked questions reeling through his mind—and possibly the minds of everyone else—but his limbs have frozen and he isn't able to formulate words. “Great! Read the first 50 pages in your _History of Art_ textbook. Chapter one quiz will be at the end of this week. Let’s finish up the boring stuff so we can get to the fun projects!” She claps her hands together. _Oh, so much fun_ , Phil thinks wryly. “Class dismissed.” A collective breath is released and students start gathering their belongings.

Once they’re out the door, Phil hisses, “What the hell was that class?! It wasn’t like that last year.”

“I don't know… is she a new teacher? Maybe they changed the curriculum,” PJ’s eyebrows furrow.

“Dunno, but she's definitely a little loopy up there.” They share a laugh as they continue walking to lunch.

“Yeah… I wonder how she’ll choose our partners,” PJ adds thoughtfully.

Phil pauses. He can’t get over something that happened in class today. It’s a niggling thought, annoying and invasive, worming into his mind. Frowning, Phil realizes he can barely hear PJ over the voices clamoring in his head, "Hey,” Phil swiftly finds PJ’s gaze, “Don't you think Howell is acting a little... off?"

PJ blinks, "Uhh, perhaps?"

"Like, don't you think he would- I dunno- be more... like-"

"Ass-hole-ish?"

"Yeah!” Phil sighs, “Why the sudden change?”

“Does it… bother you?”

“No-! I mean- I just… I don't understand,” Phil shakes his head, “I don’t understand him.”

A crease forms between PJ’s eyebrows, but he waits for Phil to continue, urging him on with his green eyes.

“Why does he hate me so much?" Phil finally blurts.

"Phil,” PJ smiles, “I honestly wouldn't worry about it. People like him? They aren't worth your time."

"Yeah... yeah I guess you're right, Peej.” Phil swallows, “Howell's too much of a bastard to spend my brain cells on."

"Who now?" A new voice. Phil knows that voice. What’s _he_ doing here?

Whirling around, Phil stutters something incoherable, before he’s interrupted by PJ’s steady voice.

“You,” PJ glares, and for a moment Phil wonders if he'll ever be as brave. "We were talking about you."

Dan scoffs, “Oh really?” Phil feels a chill runs down his spine. “Calling me a bastard?”

Phil gulps audibly, “M-maybe.”

Dan cocks an eyebrow. Phil opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it. The tension falls thick on their shoulders, pulling between them, taught like a string. He wants to ask Dan what the hell he’s doing here.

PJ, however, has other plans. "Are you following us, Howell?"

"Following you?” Dan scoffs, “You fucking wish I was."

"No, I really don't," Phil mutters under his breath. Dan's eyes narrow.

“Let’s go, Phil. He’s wasting our time,” PJ tugs on Phil’s elbow, but Phil’s eyes are still trained on Dan’s. He can’t seem to leave them for some reason - probably because the embers of flame flickering within them are burning holes into Phil, rooting him to the spot.

Dan’s voice is filled with malice, “You disgust me,” he nearly spits, before adding, “your whole _friendship_ disgusts me.”

Phil feels a whip of hot anger bubbling in his chest. In his peripheral vision, he sees PJ’s fingers clench.

“It’s bullshit!” Dan snaps.

“Why are you even _here_?” Phil almost winces at the sharpness of his own voice,  but the nagging question is still circulating about in his skull.

Rolling his eyes, Dan starts to speak, but is interrupted, “You’re one to talk,” PJ pipes up, boiling with repressed fury, “where are _your_ friends?”

“You usually have them around you,” Phil adds, a harsh smirk gracing his features, “Well? Where are they now?”

“Oh, I can take you on without them,” Seething, Dan steps forward, one hand balling into a fist. PJ shuffles close as well, a scowl marring his usually calm features. Phil notices Dan’s chest is rising and falling unsteadily. He flicks his gaze back up to Dan’s eyes and notices, for the first time, there’s a glint of something else - something desperate, something hurt.

“You haven't been… yourself lately,” the words fly from Phil’s mouth without permission. He feels PJ’s stare burning into the side of his head. He ignores it, boring his gaze into Dan’s. The glint he’d seen earlier is guarded behind bitter-chocolate, enraged orbs.

-

Dan’s jaw clenches. If _only_ he could be normal. If only he wasn't a cambion. If only he didn't have to feel random spikes of physical, pulsating pain. After figuring out he was a cambion, he hasn't been able to think clearly. Super powers are great, but at what cost? If he doesn't figure out the life drain ability soon, he’ll surely go insane.

Dan can feel the telltale surging in his chest, blistering fury unfurling in his veins. Phil has the pleasure of living a normal life. Phil doesn't know what he’s saying. Phil can live in blissful oblivion. What does _Phil_ know?! He wants to voice these thoughts out to them, but all that comes out is, “Unlike you lot, I don't mingle with _faggots_ ,” Dan spits. The acidic word is bitter on his tongue, and he already tastes the regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr @bluejazzberrys
> 
> Thank you for reading <3  
> Cya next Wednesday!
> 
> btw for anyone that's curious, the website Dan uses is a real website. here's the link: http://freaksrp.wikia.com/wiki/Cambions


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for kudos and comments!!

Phil’s not entirely sure what happens next. One second Dan’s mocking face is taunting before him; the next second, it’s red and puffy beneath him, struggling on the floor as PJ tugs fruitlessly on Phil’s shoulder. He can barely process PJ’s panicked,  _ Phil! Leave it! Leave it, he’s not worth your time,  _ as blood roars in his ears. Dan wheezes as Phil’s grasp tightens around his long neck, and the broken sound seems to snap Phil out of it. He snatches his hands back, an apology stuck in his throat. But he can't seem to spit the damned thing out because Dan flips them over, pinning his hands above his head. 

“Why, you bloody-” Dan rasps, interrupted by his own heavy, angry panting, “I’ll kill you.” 

Phil winces, face paling. Goddamnit, why would he go and do something stupid like that? Both of them know Dan is the stronger one between the two of them. Although, amidst the bubblings of panic, a small flicker of relief breaks in his chest as he sees PJ running down the hall. He’ll be back with help in a few minutes, Phil hopes. 

-

Dan’s vision blurs as red fury crawls into his veins. His lungs are screaming and his head swims. It takes all of his strength to stop himself from socking Phil  _ hard  _ in the face. Phil’s heart is rattling beneath him and he gets a wicked satisfaction from it; so he drawls, “You scared, Philly?” 

Phil tilts his head away and murmurs a curt, “No.” 

But Dan isn't listening anymore. Phil’s neck is on full display, and suddenly his sense of smell has tripled. The sleeping cambion within him stirs and releases a delighted purr in Dan’s ears.  _ Damn _ , Phil smells good. Good enough to  _ eat.  _ It's a heady cocktail of honey and sunshine and summer, somehow mingling with something else that screams  _ Phil _ . He’s tempted to sink his teeth into the porcelain skin displayed before him. 

_ What the hell? _

His brain short-circuits with the thought. Something hot tugs in his gut, and he has a desperate need raging within his bones—it's infuriating because he doesn't know what for. Then, hitting him like a freight train, the words flash in his mind:  _ cambions can steal the life force from humans through physical contact. At first, most cambions struggle with this power, and it is something they initially fight with to control.  _

Dan’s breath hitches. Is  _ that _ what this is? Was he triggered by physical contact?

“Dan?” Phil’s voice is tentative, and Dan practically shudders above him. He’s never noticed how perfect his name sounds, rolling on Phil’s tongue. Sighing, Dan restrains himself from burying his slowly flushing face—now reddening for a different reason—into Phil’s collar. Phil must’ve mistaken his huff of breath for a warning sound, however, because he sucks in a breath and turns perfectly still beneath Dan. A moment later, Dan rolls off of him even though his body is screaming at him to to touch, to feel, to  _ taste _ . 

Phil is frowning at him from the floor, and Dan knows he’s being analyzed by those sapphire eyes. For some reason it sends a spike of heat through him, “Fuck,” he grunts as he closes his eyes, goose flesh prickling all over. He can hear the ruffling of Phil’s clothes, and he knows Phil must be sitting upright now. 

“Are you… alright?” Phil’s hand brushes along his bicep, and Dan jolts, face blooming crimson.  _ No no no not good _ . The feather-light touch is electric and he can feel it burn through the material of his sleeve. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Dan springs to his feet, glaring down at the floor. He can't bear to look at Phil. “Cunt,” he mutters to the faded carpet, before practically sprinting down the hall. Something instinctive tells him that he wouldn't have been this affected if he was human; this has to do with him being an incubus. His heart thumps erratically the whole way back to his flat. 

He needs to figure this superhuman shit out before things get out of hand. 

***

Dan collapses in a pile of sluggish limbs on his bed. His heart is still thrumming beneath him and his vision is still blurry. Something twinkles in the lamplight and he lifts his head to see the silver ring. It catches the golden light in such a way that it reflects right in Dan’s eye. It looks like a small diamond among the crowd of gray, monochrome litter strewn on his smooth, white table. Ever since his encounter with ‘Lady Syndra,’ it's been sitting there, innocent. He reaches out and plucks it from the pile, tracing a hand over the intricate patterns. His heart rate slows. The blue hues merge with the silver undertones as he turns it in his hand, giving it a mesmerizing teal gleam. His eyes fall shut and he exhales, turning the cool ring in his clammy palm. 

 

_ Smell of sea-salt mists in the air, _

_ a caress on one’s face _

_ the sea breeze whips your hair _

_ on the tongue a savory taste  _

 

_ Dash into sparkling waves _

_ glistening in the brilliant sun _

_ frothy bubbles wash the floor  _

_ and start to expand, _

_ swallowing up brittle shells-  _

_ pale lilacs, baby blues, gray hues  _

_ peppered all over golden sand _

 

_ Listen to  _

_ the soft lapping  _

_ of the dancing tide; _

_ ignore the burning rays - _

_ pelting sand skims over cheekbones _

_ shimmering crests, caught in a daze _

 

_ Yet the gleaming ocean _

_ is not always so tranquil _

_ splish, splash, surge, _

_ feel its frigid slap  _

_ a stinging in your eye _

_ in your ear a swelling roar _

_ pushing and pulling  _

_ the treacherously serene tide _

 

_ Beneath distant cries of gulls _

_ white foam flattens out  _

_ and blindly reaches _

_ crashing on the tanned shore _

_ devouring sandcastles in its path _

_ don’t underestimate its power _

_ avoid its uncontrollable wrath _

 

Dan blinks. His surroundings melt. He’s back in his dim-lit, monochrome bedroom, the ring now warm in his palm. Sitting upright, he takes the time to re-admire the perfectly-crafted designs. Its ovular face rests above a band of swirls, which glitter when caught at the right angle. The color of the smooth face is a light shade of cloudy blue—almost white. The symbol on it has been a subject of contemplation for Dan during countless sleepless nights. It’s etched with a firm line, extending vertically through marble face and curving upwards, almost resembling a fancy, backwards J—but not quite; it could possibly resemble a lower-case  _ b  _ as well. Above the hooked curve, there’s a solid triangle filled in with dark ink, rotated on its side. It’s definitely not a letter from the English alphabet. The insignia must be part of an ancient dialect. 

As Dan slides it on, he can only marvel at how perfectly it molds against his index finger. He sighs as a flood of nostalgia rushes through him. The memory is hazy, but he’s able to recount the warm smells of the bakery, the sandy-haired boy, the abrupt flurry of movements. Although, he doesn’t remember what exactly they had scuffled about, nor does he remember the boy’s name. But he does remembers the blue eyes. The stolen ring isn’t the only thing that reminds him of the ocean.

His chest tightens as he recollects the encounter, guilt swimming in its depths. His abominable temper had gotten the better of him that day, despite only being six years old. He had felt awful about it afterwards and hadn’t even told his father about his theft; he’s the only one in the world who knows about it—besides the blue-eyed boy, that is. 

He could’ve simply cast it aside on the lamp-lit streets, but it seemed like a ring of high importance, considering the carefully-constructed calligraphy. He didn’t want it to get in the wrong hands; if someone else picked it up, they would certainly have no intention of returning it. His heart surges with longing as he wishes to return the ring to its rightful owner. One day, he promises. But he knows it’s hopeless. He had never seen the boy again - low chance he would see him any time soon, let alone ever.

Besides, he has other things to worry about. The visit to his mother is long overdue. Tomorrow, he mentally assigns. 

***

When PJ returns, Phil is sitting on the floor with his mouth hung open, facing the direction of an empty, Dan-less hallway. 

“What's wrong, son?” Mr. Curt asks.

“Where… did… he go?” PJ’s words are fragmented by heaving breaths.

Phil whips around, “What?”

“Are you okay?” 

Phil clears his throat, “Yeah, fine. Err—Professor Curt, everything's fine. We just… uh, there was just a misunderstanding, sir.” He can feel PJ boring holes into his face, and he struggles to stay still. 

“Oh… alright, then. Sure?” Professor Curt asks, unaware of the tension hanging in the air. 

“Yeah,” Phil coughs, “yes. Thank you for the concern.” 

Professor Curt nods briskly and clambers away. 

“Why…?” PJ trails off after he's out of sight. 

“Why what?”

“Don't play dumb with me, Phil,” PJ nearly snaps. 

“Okay, okay. Dan was just—He was acting really strange.” 

PJ sighs, “Not this again, Phil.” He runs a hand through brown curls, “I wouldn't think too much of it. Maybe he got scared or something.”

“But how come his friends weren't with him?” Phil frowns, “Usually they’re around.” 

“Exactly, that's probably why he skedaddled. Fucking coward,” PJ crosses his arms and the scowl makes a reappearance over his features.  

Phil rises in contemplation, “I feel like there was more to that, though. Besides, I don't think I've seen him with his friends at all this year.” 

“Why are we even worrying about him, anyway?” PJ rolls his eyes, “We shouldn't waste our time with that twat.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

He  _ is _ right. Dan  _ is _ a twat. So why doesn't it feel right?

***

His mother is sitting in the kitchen, cup of hot cocoa in hand. Her eyes are as chocolatey-warm as the beverage she drinks. After taking a sip and smacking her lips, she speaks, because Dan apparently doesn’t know how to form words, “So, Daniel. Tell me. What’s wrong?”

Dan feels like the faded rug beneath him has been whipped out from under his feet, “How do you know something’s wrong?”

She smiles sweetly, and Dan’s teeth clench, “When was the last time you visited? I’ve been worried about you.” She pauses, “Regardless, you just confirmed it now, didn’t you?”

Dan flinches internally.  _ I’ve been worried about you _ —what’s that supposed to mean? Does she know? She must know… 

“Why are you worried about me?”

Her eyes widen when she hears his bitter tone, “What’s wrong, love?”

He huffs, “What’s wrong?” He sucks in a deep breath and tries to ignore her worried gaze, “When were you planning on telling me?”

“Telling you about what?” She sits up in her chair, posture now rigid and alert. 

Dan scoffs, “How long are you going to put up this… this  _ act _ , mum? Couldn’t you have told me? Before I found out for myself?” His mom’s eyes widen, and she’s stunned into silence. For some reason the wordless response is even more painful than a fake one. “Say something!” Dan’s heart crumbles to his feet when he sees her flinch. 

She closes her eyes and slowly inhales. When her eyes open, they’re glistening, and Dan doesn’t want to analyze what that means. Placing her chipped mug on the wooden slab, she gracefully rises to her feet. Her voice is choked, “Dan… come with me.”

Dan blinks owlishly, but starts to follow her. His mouth is a rigid line. She takes him upstairs to her room - the master bedroom. Curiosity tugs unbearably in his chest, but he restrains himself from asking questions. Finally, she stops when they’re in front of their private bookshelf. His jaw drops to the floor as he reads the titles on the worn spines:  _ Demon Lore, Of Myths and Monsters, Mythology 101, Cambion Culture, A Stolen Ring, Superhuman Classifications, Who’s That Cambion?—  _ to name a few. How did he never stumble across them? How long have they been sitting here, collecting dust?

His mom reads his mind, “I’m surprised you’ve never noticed them before,” she smiles wistfully, “but then, you were always a preoccupied child.” Dan frowns. 

Thumbing over the worn covers, he narrows his eyes, “ _ A Stolen Ring _ ? What’s that one about?” He’s about to pluck the book from its shelf, but his mom snatches the book up before he can even step an inch closer.

“That’s-! It’s um, not important - I honestly don’t even know how it got here.” She frowns down at it, as if the book is a fault for something, before flinging it away - far away.

“Right, ok…” Dan raises an eyebrow. There’s a pause, bordering on painful.

Clearing her throat, Dan’s mother continues gravely, “Dan, you’re father… was… not human. He never was.” Dan almost rolls his eyes. He knows that now.  _ Now.  _ “And… Oh, Dan I-” her voice cracks, “I never wanted you to find out like this.” Voice soft, her eyes glaze over with unshed tears, “I’m so sorry, love. I just,” she sniffs, “I never thought—I.” She sniffs again, and tries to blink the welling tears out of her eyes, but a drop inevitably rolls down the slope of her freckled cheek, “You’re father… was an incubus,” she coughs wetly, “He didn't die of—didn't die a normal death.” 

Although Dan already knows this, he still feels the splinters plunge into his thrumming heart; it still  _ hurts _ . He can barely hear his mother as hot blood rushes through his ears, clenching his fingers. She's trailing on about something related to his father, how great he was, some kind of bullshit. She rambles about him being a cambion, a hybrid of a human and an demon. He already knows. He knows that now. When she tells him how cambions are awakened or ‘turned’ at a certain age, he already knows. He knows that now. When she reveals they have abilities and life drain, he already knows. He knows that now. Dan feels the prick of his blunt nails on his clammy palm. The dam breaks. 

A flood of white-hot magma bursts through his veins, surging into his tightened chest, “Why are you telling me all of this  _ now _ ?!” 

It seems his mom has bottled up her emotions as well, however, as she erupts, “I wanted my son to live a normal life! Was that so hard to ask for? I was still half convinced that you couldn't be one, that is was just a hoax, a dream. But alas, it was damned—inevitable.” Her hands fling into the air with the last word. She takes a deep breath, her chest shuddering, and her voice rises, strained, “I cried myself to sleep. I prayed to the gods. I  _ survived _ —all for what?!” Her fierce, watery eyes widen with the last phrase as she seems to process what she had just unconsciously revealed. Nonetheless, she continues, hoping that Dan doesn't pick up on it, “I was holding onto that last piece of wishful thinking.” A broken sob interrupts her now soft-spoken voice, “I just wanted you to live a normal life. I didn't want you to go through what your father went through. You’re my son. My  _ only _ son. My baby boy. I'm so, so sorry, bear.” 

Dan feels a sharp pang in his chest. His lower lip throbs, and he belatedly realizes he’s bitten it too hard. When he releases it, it burns yellow before turning an abused, dark red. His heart is pounding against his rib-cage and his throat is dry. He isn't able to think as his mind washes over in blank static. Then he hears her voice again, only a slight tremor lingering in her speech, “I know it's hard to understand, love, but please, I—” she sniffs, “—I hope you can forgive me one day.”

“Of course I forgive you,” Dan blurts without hesitation, surprising them both. His mother looks at him with wide eyes, which start to shimmer. He tangles his hand in her wobbly one, and voices firmly, “Just tell me. Everything. From the beginning.” He sighs, “I need to hear the truth, okay? The  _ full  _ truth.”

She nods shakily, “Yes, I-” her lips press together, “very well.” She stares at him, but she's looking past him. Her eyes are distant with reminisces: 

“Your father was a powerful demon. He was notorious for taking many souls, and was well-known and well-respected in the demon community because of that. In his prime, he was…” She shakes her head, “he was formidable.” Dan frowns, wondering if she’s referring to the energy drain power; ‘taking many souls’ doesn't exactly sound innocent.

“But then, he met your mother. It was dangerous for a demon to fall in love with a human, especially for his type. An Incubus can only fall in love once. But alas—love is strange. Love is dangerous. Love is powerful; more powerful than he could've ever imagined… He left everything for her. They made a life together, full of color and joy. And then, they had you. Daniel. Your mother’s light, hope, courage.”

“Why are you speaking in third person?” 

His mother rolls her eyes, “Dramatic effect. I thought you’d be familiar with it,” she winks. 

“Fine, continue,” he huffs, chewing on the raw skin of his lips. 

His mother clears her throat, “As I was saying, before I was so  _ rudely _ interrupted…” A smile twitches on Dan’s lips. “Daniel’s father loved him very much, but he was getting weaker and sicker by the second. Like I said before, an incubus can only fall in love once. Many believed it was better to just steer clear of love for that reason; they just never fell in love. But—your father was different.” 

“I think we’ve established that by now,” Dan mutters. 

His mother glares for a moment, but continues with the same poised grace, “He couldn't feed off of your mother any longer, otherwise she was bound to die. Humans have smaller life containers than all demons; they’re practically non-existent. His life was draining and he was in desperate need of energy, but where would he get it from? He couldn’t get it from your mother; feeding off of her would kill her.  That’s why it’s better for demons to just avoid love, because then they can just feed off of someone and kill. But he was stuck. He couldn’t feed on your mother and he couldn’t feed on another woman either. Choosing another woman meant cheating on her. He wasn’t a cheater. So he had made his decision.”

Dan’s mind whirls with confusion. He doesn't understand a word of his mother’s story. “Wait, wait, wait - what? Why would stealing someone else's soul mean he's cheating on you?” 

His mom frowns and looks momentarily thrown off, “Well, seems like you have a lot to learn. Do you know what an incubus is?” Dan shakes his head. “Well… they. I mean—hm, this is gonna sound weird. Why don't you search it up in your own time? Or feel free to borrow one of these books.” 

Dan is tempted to dive for the dusty bookshelf as fire of curiosity engulfs him yet again, but he restrains, “How bad is it?” It's spoken with a hint of trepidation. 

“It's not bad!” His mother rushes to clear, and then she mutters under her breath, “it can actually be very good, depending on your victim, I mean—” the curiosity intensifies when his mother’s face dusts pink. Belatedly, he notices she’s been avoiding his gaze. But he bites his tongue back. 

“Okay, whatever. Finish your story.” He needs to figure out what an incubus is—especially after his mother’s strange reaction. 

She shrugs, all traces of red gone, “Well, there isn't much more to say, dear. He couldn't handle the life drain, and he passed away like that.” She becomes glassy-eyed, “in his last moments, he was thinking of you, you know. He was worried for you too, but he knew you could conquer anything in the world if you put your heart to it.” Her eyes swim with affection as she reaches out and smooths a thumb over his dimple. Dan feels his vision blur. “I know you miss him dear, but truly, he wouldn’t want that. He would want you to move on with your life. Don’t let his story bring you down. He was an honorable man, and he wanted his son to follow in his footsteps.” Dan’s chest tightens and it hurts when he swallows around the dense ball of cotton lodged in his throat. After a loaded silence, his mother frowns, pinching the skin of his cheek, “Daniel… have you lost weight?” 

The tender moment is shattered. “ _ Mum _ ,” Dan blinks away his tears and bats her hand away, trying to contain his smile.

“Come, I’ll fix something for you,” she calls when she’s half-way down the stairs. Dan lingers around the bookcase for a moment, before grabbing a few books and scooping them into his bag. 

***

Dan returns to his dreary apartment with his mind slightly clearer and his bag slightly heavier with the weight of the worn books and the weight of his mother’s confirmation. His stomach sinks as he thinks of the mountain-load of homework due. He doesn’t know what to think of his new major. The professor seems odd and the way she said some things had Dan’s stomach dropping to the floor. But it was undoubtedly much better than law.

Forget homework, though; he needs to find out what an incubus is. The train ride had been unbearable. He wasn’t able to crank out one of the dusty books because someone could notice. Or maybe he had just been paranoid. Probably the latter. He opens the first book with care, flicking through the pages tentatively.  

He pauses as he skims over the faded words, and it takes a full minute for his brain to process them. 

_ An incubus is a male demon or supernatural being and that takes a humanoid form to seduce others. The female form is known as a succubus. The general term, or gender-neutral term, for incubi and succubi is known as ‘cambion.’ Life drain for cambions is exploited by preying on others via sexual intercourse. Some are known for their “kiss of death” if they are powerful enough. They are one of the strongest in the manipulation class— _

He slams the book shut, dust particles poofing in the air. Heart pounding, his face burns scarlet. His father was… a  _ sex _ demon?! Well, that explains why his mother was so embarrassed about it. That's why feeding off of other women would be considered cheating. That also explains why he had those odd reactions to others—he ignores his brain’s whisper of a certain name. His stomach clenches— _ so am I gay or is that the incubus wanting sexual intercourse? _ Do gay incubi exist?  _ Is the incubus attracted to Phil or am /I/ attracted to Phil?  _ And since cambions need ‘sexual intercourse’ to survive, who will he feed on? How long can a cambion go without sex until they run out of life energy and die? 

All of the questions are undoubtedly important, but who can answer them? A sighs flies from his mouth. He’ll deal with that later. If he focuses on all of those questions too much, he might just die from stress-overload, forget the energy drain.

 

_ Humans have smaller life containers than demons. When cambions use their manipulative powers on a human, they will most likely die due to the life-drain effect. However, sometimes it is necessary to make this human sacrifice in order to live. When a cambion runs out of magic energy (see: energy drain paradox), death is inevitable. This is one of the most basic principles to the life drain ability. It explains why a cambion can not fall in love with a human. This type of relationship usually leads to a plethora of complications. _

 

Dan stops short. His mother’s words make sense, but something is clearly off. He feels like a ton of bricks has dropped on him, and his stomach sinks to his feet. 

His mother is human. So how the hell did she survive?

***

The class is silent with the scratch of pens, and the occasional rustle of papers. They had received some stupid classwork assignment. And Dan’s jaw twitches when he realizes he has to sit at Phil’s table for the rest of the year since the class is full; there's no other place to sit. He’s just about to finish his doodle of Haru when the familiar tinkle of his twitter notification goes off. Turning his ringer off, he glances at his phone. 

It's… Cat? He's met Cat before through mutual friends, but they’ve never really talked before. She’s always sent him… strange vibes, though. It's always seemed like they've known each other - like they have some sort of anomalous connection. But he’s never voiced those thoughts aloud. Why would he?

[Cat|11:58]  _ Dan. Meet me outside. I think I have something important to tell you.  _

[Dan|11:58]  _ wat _

[Cat|11:58]  _ Can't talk rn.. we have to talk somewhere in private. _

Dan scoffs at his phone and glances up, scanning the room. She’s sitting a table away from them, to the left. He sees Anthony’s mess of brown curls behind her. When he meets her eyes, he raises his eyebrows inquisitively. She bites her lip and jerks her head down towards her phone. Dan feels his own phone buzz in his hands. 

[Cat|11:59]  _ I know what u are _

Dan’s stomach swoops. The air leaves his lungs, and a bolt of lightening zooms down his spine. Just five words. Just those five words are needed to trigger his heart into a frenzy. His fingers tremble as he shoots a message back.

[Dan|12:00]  _ wdym _

Play it cool. Play it cool. He doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

[Cat|12:01]  _ U know exactly what I mean. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O.O  
> any predictions on what the ancient dialect is? hint: it's actually from a videogame xD  
> as always, thank you for reading!  
> feel free to leave a kudos/comment if ya enjoyed :) 
> 
> tumblr @bluejazzberrys


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello here is ur wednesday weekly update >.<  
> btw @americanphancakes yes, ding ding ding! you got it spot-on! Clearly, im a big zelda fan myself (haha dw we can be nerds together lol) i really didnt expect someone to guess it so accurately tho - kudos to u xD

Dan stares at the message unblinkingly and takes a sharp intake of breath.  _ You know exactly what I mean. _ Fuck. He looks back at Cat, but she’s staring reverently at her textbook, unable to meet his eyes.

[Dan|12:01]  _ how???? _

Well. So much for playing it cool. 

The clicking of the professor’s heels has him shoving his phone under his musky books, and his hands are still shaking as he hastily struggles to grab his pen and flip to a random page. He hears Phil snort from across from him, but it’s a distant sound since his heart is roaring in his ears. 

Cat’s words thunder in his brain:  _ you know exactly what I mean _ . Sweat breaks out along his forehead. Is she talking about what he thinks she’s talking about? How does she know? Is she a cambion too? Perhaps a succubus? His heart soars with the thought, but he forces it down. He doesn't want to overanalyze and get his hopes up, only for them to be possibly shattered. He glares at his paper, but he can’t process any of the words or colors; they just merge together in a black-and-white-beige blob.

He doesn’t know if he should trust Cat anyway. After all, again, he doesn’t know her that well, and besides… Cat doesn't have the best reputation. She’s liked by some and disliked by some, causing the endless stream of toxicity and drama. But one thing that both sides can agree on is that she’s had way too many late-night flings. It may or may not explain a lot. And, not to mention, something inside him screams  _ beware _ when she’s close; it's a skin-prickling sensation. It also may or may not explain a lot. 

After an agonizing wait, class finally ends. Cat, somehow already at his shoulder, grabs his wrist.

“Come on, Dan, we’re going to have a little chat.” The harsh glint in her eyes and the shrewd slither of her voice has Dan’s stomach twisting into knots as he’s dragged all the way to Cat’s dorm. Once the door is closed, she flicks her silver hair out of her eyes and flips around. He feels her hands crawl up his chest, smoothing out along his shoulders. It feels like insects have crawled into his skin. His heart jumps in his rigid chest as he feels her breath wash over his face—

Hands scrambling to her shoulders, Dan forcefully shoves her off, “What the  _ fuck _ .” As she stumbles back a few steps, her face morphs into one of confusion, and then she starts whispering something under her breath as her eyes fall shut. Dan can't decipher any of it; it sounds like an odd chanting in an odd language. Something that’s been coiling tight within his chest snaps apart. “Cat, what the  _ hell _ are you doing?! I'm fucking leaving.” He grabs the doorknob and flings the door open, but feels a feather-light touch on his left shoulder—a touch that's so different from the one he felt a few moments ago.

“It's just as I expected. Sorry, I just needed to… confirm.”

Dan whirls around, eyebrows furrowed, “You— _ what? _ Confirm what?” Dan can hear the tremor in his own voice. 

She closes her eyes and sighs, “First, you might wanna close the door.” The door clunks shut behind him. 

He narrows his eyes. “Well?”

She opens her eyes, and he’s surprised by the sincerity that shines in them, “The spells, Dan. I'm sure you’ve noticed by now…?” Dan is at a loss for words. He can only gape at her like a blubbering fish.  _ Spells?  _ “Oh,” she sighs after a beat, “You… you don't even know how to use spells, do you.” There's a pause as Dan still can't formulate any words. “I was chanting some spells just now. But you weren't affected. Sooo...” For some reason, Dan’s heart his picking up pace again, and he can feel dots of sweat aline on his forehead. She smacks her lips, “You’re a super-human, right?” 

Dan recalls reading the word somewhere. It's a blanket term describing anyone that’s not human. He feels his soul seep out of his body, “...are you?” His voice is warped in his own ears.

She grimaces, “Yeah, I'm a cambion too. My mother was... a succubus. That's how I knew.” Head clearing, Dan releases a shaky breath. The weight lifts off of Dan’s chest. The room is suddenly less foggy. 

He can see the horrendously pink bed spread in the corner and he sees dirty dishes in the sink. A few books are on the gray desk, along with an open box of cereal, and a worn chair is crowded with piles and piles of clothes. There are a few socks on the floor next to it. A dusty Wii rests underneath the boxy T.V. And somehow it smells like sprinkles and cupcakes. 

He finds out why when he notices the cupcake-pan in the crowded sink. The murky water is a dark shade of pink in the light of her window. The dorm is cluttered, but livable. It’s a college dorm; livable is luxury. 

Cat breaks him out of his musings, “Didn't you feel that prickly thing whenever you saw me? Or when you were in close vicinity of me…?”

_ Yes, I did feel that weird sensation. But my instincts told me to avoid you like the goddamn plague.  _ “Erm, I guess so,” he fortunately replies instead. 

She smiles the same sad smile again, and he wonders if she’s lost a parent as well. His heart twists. “Well, I won't go into details, but… how long have you gone without sex?” 

Dan splutters as his face burns an infuriating red, “W-what?!”  _ That escalated fucking quickly.  _

She claps her hands punctually with every statement. “Dan. Get real. If you don't have sex then you will die. Inevitably.” 

“H-how soon?” 

Shrugging, she crosses her arms, “I'm surprised you’re not feeling the symptoms by now. You’re not fatigued? Or woozy? Or—I dunno—just dead-tired all the time?”

Dan swallows. “I-I’m a late bloomer. I turned this summer.” But his heart plummets when he remembers the random flashes of fatigue he's felt recently.  The symptoms are already starting, and it looks like he doesn't have much time left. 

Her eyebrows raise, “Oh, well I guess you got lucky. I was turned when I was 16, so I’ve had… many encounters, to put it simply.” 

“So how much time do I have left?” Dan hopes he doesn't sound as urgent as he thinks. 

She hums, idly plucking her phone from her desk, “Not a lot. But if you don't make a move soon, you  _ will  _ die.”

“B-but… I don't want to  _ kill _ people.” 

Glancing up from her phone, Cat’s mysterious smile makes another appearance, “Then find another cambion to do it with.” 

“Wait… why are you  _ helping  _ me?” 

She winks, “You know… I'm not a human either, Dan.” 

“...Yeah I think I've figured that out by now.” 

There’s a pause as she looks at him with an odd twinkle in her eye, and Dan finally gets what she’s playing at. Regardless, she must’ve thought that Dan couldn’t understand where she was going with this, because a moment later she rolls her eyes, “You know what I mean. It would work out pretty well. We both need sex to survive.” 

Dan is tempted to leave right then and there. “Oh fuck  _ off _ , I—I'm gay.” 

She gasps, and then laughs as she presses a hand to her chest, “Bullshit,” she wheezes.  

For some reason his heart lurches with her reaction. He honestly doesn't know why he said it either. They both know it's a lie… or is it? Is it a complete lie? His stomach swoops and he forces his thoughts away to the crisis corner. “ _ Hey! _ ” He cries indignantly, “Don't assume my sexuality.”

She finally stops cackling, “Okay fine, even if you  _ are _ … who wouldn't pass up a chance to help you,  _ the  _ Daniel Howell. You’re father’s name is well-known in the whole demon community. Having power over  _ you _ ? No one would pass that up. We just need to make a small deal. Clearly, you need help—”

“What makes you think I need your help so badly?” He scowls bitterly, hostility flooding his mouth. 

Her eyebrow quirks, and Dan can feel frustration brewing in his gut. She raises her hands in front of her dramatically, “Who else do you have? Who else can answer all of your  _ burning _ questions? I can be your personal guide to the demon world.” 

Dan jaw clenches as a small voice in his head points out it's a golden opportunity. He wants it to shut up, but he knows it's right. He huffs, jaw unclenching, “Fine.” He pauses, “You’ll answer all my questions?”

“Well, not for free. We have to seal a bond. I’ll be your guide, your teacher, your guru—whatever. But in return, I have complete power over you.”  

Of course. He deadpans as she busies herself with something on her phone, a flicker of a smirk playing on her mouth. She really likes having all this power over him, doesn't she. Dan sighs. He doesn't give a shit about who owns the power in the demon world, though. Unless… “Define ‘power’,” he glares.

Rolling her eyes, she drops her phone back onto her desk, “It's nothing much, really. You can't go against my wishes, you can't tell me what to do, and… hm. Oh!” She raises her index finger, “I have first pick in feeding. Meaning, if we want the same person, then I get him.” 

He has to stop himself from correcting that statement—“ _ her _ , in my case”—because in her eyes, he’s gay. His stomach squeezes. Biting his lip, he hesitates on her proposal. Should he?

A loud sigh escapes her, “I won't abuse my powers, Dan. I really don't care about that stuff, I just want the title, okay? I want to be your Lilith.” Then, with a bit of a crazed gleam in her eye, she whispers, “Oh, mother would be so proud.”

He puffs out a short breath of air, mind racing. He doesn't bother to ask what a Lilith is; he's had enough craziness, “Fine. Okay. Shake hands?”

Cat blinks, and then snorts, “I keep forgetting you’re new to this whole superhuman thing. You’re practically a Normal. We’re demons, Dan—well partially, anyway. We need a blood exchange.” 

“ _ What?!” _

“You heard me. I mean, traditionally, we’re supposed to brutally bite each other’s neck until we bleed out, but that will get messy for obvious reasons.” A short laugh escapes her as she notices Dan’s horrified expression. She procures a small needle from seemingly nowhere, “Here, just—use this...” 

He yelps as she gently takes his finger in her dainty hand and pricks it with the needle. A small dot of blood appears on the pad of his finger and he watches it dribble down, slightly mesmerized by the red trickle. She does the same for her own finger, and for a moment it seems as if she has slipped into a trance as she brings their hands together and starts reciting strange incantations. Dan can only stare with wide eyes as she goes into her own world.

“Okay. Done!”

“That’s it?” He looks back at the small cut on his finger, and almost does a double-take when it starts closing up at an abnormal pace. Oh yeah, weird superhuman powers. Will he ever get used to them? 

“Yep. We’re good to go. Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t feel any different,” he mumbles.

She chuckles, “You’re not supposed to feel any different. Well, not unless you do something to annoy me or bother me.” Cat tosses the needle in a nearby dust-bin. “If it gets bad enough, you might even die.” She says it with such casual ease that Dan starts to feel the beginnings of anxiety weigh down on him once again, and he thinks he may have just gotten a one-way-ticket to hell on earth. He’s doomed. Cat seems to notice his distress, “I’m just joking, Dan. Calm down, oh my god, your  _ face _ ,” she chortles.

“Don't joke like that, goddamnit,” he mutters, face hot. He quickly changes the subject, “right, so how long do I have?”

She finally stops sniggering. As she looks at him up and down, he feels like he’s being weirdly dissected. “Probably a little over half a year, so… February or maybe even March—max. But you should really do it before then if you want to have some life in you.”

“Wait. So have  _ you…  _ used life drain to kill anyone?”

She shrugs as she inspects her chipped, painted nails, “Not really. I mean, I’ve gotten pretty close, but I’ve always manage to save them.”

He frowns, “… how?” 

She hesitates, “Um. Well, I just take them to the infirmary the next day, if it gets really bad. Otherwise I'll just treat them here. It's not really that hard. And hmm.” She murmurs under her breath, “I really shouldn’t be saying this, but… you know Anthony?”

Dan blinks, eyes popping out of their sockets, “Anthony’s a superhuman too?!”

Relief flashes over her features momentarily, “Yes, but I didn’t tell you,” her face becomes stern as she waves an index finger in front of him, “remember.”

“Okay, okay. Fucking hell, how many of us are there?”

“You’d be surprised,” She smirks. Dan knows he should feel relieved, but something in her voice makes it seem as if she knows something he doesn’t. Why is she so mysterious?

“Erm, okay. So how else should I survive…?”

She hums, “Well, for now I guess you can start by eating chocolate. They give us similar effects, so that’ll delay your… death, essentially. You should really find someone though. Another cambion. Another superhuman. Then you don't have to go through the mess of doing it with a human.” Her eyes widen, “Oh! And that brings me to my next point—don't fall in love with a human. It’ll get even more messy.” 

He nods, “Yeah, knew that one already.”

She frowns, seemingly taken aback, “Oh. Okay. Well if you have any more questions let me kno—”

The chime of Cat’s ringtone interrupts them. She squints at her phone and her eyes widen. Before swiping her hand across the screen, she’s shoving Dan out the door, “Bye!”

Once it closes, all he can think is  _ well that was fucking weird _ , as his mind swirls. 

***

He’s here again. The rushing of the waves batter against the rocks, and conversation bubbles from under large umbrellas, similar to the way the ocean bubbles when it hits the shore. White fizz surges onto the shore, foaming and frothy against the water-hardened sand. But this time it's different. A new voice breaks him out of his reverie:

“Dan…?” He turns around and his breath is sucked out of him. It reminds him of the way the ocean is sucked away, only to come crashing back down. Phil’s eyes are so cerulean  _ blue _ . He barely has time to register the way his pale skin contrasts against his quiff of inky black hair as his ethereally beautiful face morphs into confusion, “What are you doing her—”

Dan’s jolted out of his sleep from his  incensed  ringing of his phone. Groaning, he rubs a hand down his face. Why was Phil in his dream? The room is spinning. It was surreal. His dreams have always been consistent. He was always near the ocean, in the same spot, looking out towards the endless horizon, into the clear blue skies. But this one had been different. Phil was in this one. He remembers Phil’s frowning face, blue eyes bright in the sunlight. His voice had sounded distant even though he had stood right next to him. And for some reason, he felt like Phil must've been in his dream world too. 

His finger slides across his phone habitually and he’s surprised to see his grainy reflection on it: FaceTime.

“Mum?” he sits up on his bed.

“Hello Dan!” She chirps and gives a little wave, “how are you?”

“M’doin well,” he mumbles.

“Were you asleep?” She chides. 

“Yeah,” Dan yawns. She hums in response, and then Dan remembers he has something critically important to ask her, and suddenly he’s wide awake. “Actually, mum… I was reading some of those books.” He rubs one of his eyes, wiping out all remnants of sleep. 

“Oh!” Her face turns a light shade of pink. He wouldn’t have noticed her blush a week ago, when he wasn't bombarded with supernatural terminology. Now he notices. “Well?” She prompts.

Dan swallows, wondering if he should even speak of the doubts that have been buzzing under his skin since that fateful evening; if his mother was human, she wouldn't be alive right now. “Was I… adopted?”

“What?” She frowns, “No, dear. Of course not.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you ask?”

Dan bites his lip. “Uh… well how else would you be alive right now? Wouldn’t the childbirth… wouldn’t it kill you?”

“Oh,” His mom’s eyes widen with realization, “Oh,  _ that _ . No. No, no, no. See, your father was a very skilled wizard.”

Dan’s breath hitches, “a-a wizard?!” 

His mother shifts her camera, “Well,” she chuckles, “not like the Harry Potter kinda wizard, but he could cast a damn good spell, alright?”

“Right…”

“So he did something with his runes, as incubi do, and made sure I lived through childbirth. It was painless, too!” His mother smiles softly. 

“Oh.” Dan frowns, “Wow… so I can cast spells and shit?”

“Yes, dear, of course you can! Oh, I wish I could find someone to teach you about spells, but we’re a private group of people.” Her eyes grow misty.

“You mean…” Dan clears his throat, “there’s more of us?” He knows there are more; Cat just told him that. Why is playing dumb? Why can't he tell his mother about Cat?

“Hm? Well not specifically incubi and succubi, but yes. There’s a whole world of supernatural humans.” His mother’s eyes light up, “That’s the blanket term. Supernatural humans are separated into demons, dragons, mages, whatever else. There are volumes of books written about it, but they’re all impossible to find.”

Dan restrains from sighing heavily. Why does it have to be so difficult?

“I know, I know, it's a lot right now dear,” she tucks away a brown strand of hair, “it can feel a little overwhelming at times.”

Dan shakes his head, smiling wryly as he scoffs, “more like all the time.”

His mother hums, “have you been reading all the books I recommended?”

“Mhm,” for a moment, Dan wonders if he should tell her that he met Cat, who’s now apparently his ‘Lilith.’ “Hey, mum, I was wondering…” She raises her eyebrows. “Uh… what's a Lilith?” 

“A Lilith? Well, to put simply, they're basically mentors.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes, “why? Have you found one?” Her voice has a sharp edge to it. 

“Umm…” as expected, for some reason he doesn't think she’ll approve of a Lilith. “No, I was just… curious.” 

“Ah, I see.” Her shoulders slacken. Dan swallows. 

“Well, I've got homework to get to,” he hopes he doesn't sound as desperate as he is to get off the phone. “Love you, mum.” 

“Love you too, bye bye!”

“Bye.”  _ Beep. _

He exhales slowly. What's so terrible about a Lilith? He needs to find more books. It's unlikely, he thinks, but maybe he’ll find something in the library. 

*******

The library is one of the most spacious and ambient places on campus, and Phil’s primary study spot. There are aisles and aisles of books and the carpets are nice and fluffy and the lights glow a beautiful golden color. Shapely chairs and couches are littered around the high-ceilinged vicinity, as well as rows and rows of computers. Phil is reading one of his favorite books in one of the less-visited aisles, sitting upon the softest carpeted space. It’s his safe haven, away from people like Dan How- Why the  _ fuck  _ is Howell here?! 

-

Dan hears a low curse from somewhere on his left as he walks into a random aisel.

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” Steel blue eyes glare at him from above a thick book.

Dan raises an eyebrow, already itching to hit something, “Hello to you too, Lester.” Phil grumbles something under his breath and violently shoves his belongings into a bag before springing up on his feet and turning to leave. Dan’s hand yanks out and closes around Phil’s wrist. “And where do you think you’re going?” Phil is looking at him as if he’s sprouted a second head. Dan’s thumb draws a smooth pattern over Phil’s inner forearm, where he can feel Phil’s heartbeat thrum, putting a smirk on Dan’s face.

Scowling, Phil rips his wrist from Dan’s hand and turns his face in a different direction, but Dan can still see the pink flush of his ears, “away. Away from  _ you _ .”

“Running away, Lester? I bet I scare you.”

Phil whirls around. A murderous flare passes through his blue eyes. When he steps forward, and Dan’s lip twitches. “I’m  _ not  _ scared of you, Howell.”

“No?”

“No, you sadistic-”

In a swift movement, Dan pins Phil against a bookcase. A few books shuffle off the case, falling to the floor in heavy thumps. Phil glares at him, but his chest is rising and falling steadily. “What about now? Scared?”

Suddenly, the murderous look in those cerulean eyes shifts to a sparkling, dark gleam, “Can’t keep your hands off me, can you, Howell?”

Dan’s breath hitches, torn between jumping off of Phil and shoving him harder into the bookcase to silence him. Instead, fleetingly, Phil’s hands are on his chest, pushing him backwards. Dan ignores the spark of heat it elicits because Phil is striding away from him, “Keep your fucking hands off me,” Phil growls, and then leaves Dan to pick up the fallen books, leaves him in an empty aisle, leaves him all alone, and Dan is  _ fuming _ .

***

Phil usually likes art class. Not now. Not today. 

Something - or rather  _ someone _ \- kicks his leg again. “Howell,” Phil hisses. Professor Craft has been lecturing on about something related to Galileo. 

Dan glances up, radiating faux innocence, “Hm?”

“Stop. Kicking. Me.”

“Oh, sorry,” He smiles, sugary sweet, “won’t happen again.”

Phil’s jaw clenches, but he manages to look back into his textbook. He’s starting to underline  _ Galileo was sentenced to life in prison by the Roman inquisition-  _ just as he feels a painful sensation on his shin. He’s going to have bruises tomorrow at this rate.

Dan must’ve kicked him hard enough to be heard because, “Hey,” PJ snaps, “How old are you?”

“Younger than you, old fag,” Dan shoots back, still in that nauseatingly sweet tone. His eyes are glinting with malice.

Automatically, Phil lands a sweet, juicy kick on Dan’s leg. 

“Fuck,” Dan utters, his face scrunching in pain. Smiling down at his textbook, Phil flips to the next page. Dan growls, but Phil manages to dodge the next kick, landing one of his own instead.

“I didn’t hit you that hard,” Dan grits, rubbing his lower leg.

Phil shrugs, “That’s what it felt like to me.”

Dan scoffs, “Weak,” earning him another kick. “Shit. Lester, for fucks’ sake.”

“Gentlemen,” Professor Craft calls out, “are we good over there?”

“Yes, perfect.” PJ pipes up.

She sends them a wary glance before continuing on with the lecture. Phil’s face feels hot. Dan’s smirking at him.

“What?” Phil mutters.

“What?” Dan murmurs, “I didn’t say anything,” that infuriating smirk still gracing his features. Phil itches to punch it off. 

“Actually,” Phil calls, “I think Dan needs some assistance.”

Dan glares, “I’ll get you back, Lester,” as Professor Craft click-clacks over.

Of course Dan has managed to ruin one of his favorite classes, simply by his presence.

***

The next time they bump into each other, things change drastically. They’re in a deserted hallway this time, with no one in sight. Phil is late for his class and Dan, on his way to the library, happens to round the corner right at the same moment. They collide again with a flood of nostalgia and deja vu. Phil feels the familiar warmth of Dan’s body heat seeping into his clothes as they scramble together to collect themselves. Dan tries to ignore the sizzle-pop of heat that erupts within him as Phil’s hand brushes over his chest, finally landing on his right shoulder. 

Dan’s eyes flash in fury. He slams Phil against the wall behind them. A gasp erupts from Phil’s mouth and his breath is knocked out of his lungs. 

“I've had enough of your  _ shit _ ,” Dan seethes, “you’re doing this on purpose aren't you? No one can be this fucking dumb.” 

Phil’s heart thunders in the coffin that is his chest and his clammy palms meet the cool wall with a  _ slap _ behind him. This is it. He’s going to die right now, right here in this dingy hallway with no one around to save him. Dan’s face is flushed again—in anger? Mesmerized, Phil can only watch Dan’s pink lips as he curses him relentlessly. He swallows as he feels Dan’s hot breath ghost along his face. Dan’s eyes are like chocolate pools, blazing into his own, and Phil is jolted out of his trance when notices—with an odd satisfaction—that they’re blown. Only a small sliver of ochre pigment can be seen around the black holes, boring into his own cerulean orbs; Dan’s arms aren't the only reason he's pinned to the wall, limbs locked. 

Suddenly Dan leans in even closer, and for a wild, hot second, Phil thinks he's about to be kissed in that dim-lit corridor. His lips part without his consent as his eyes fall shut; it’s like he's caught in a spell. 

Dan barks out a bitter laugh, "Did you really think I'd kiss you?" The heat against Phil's face is gone. The black abyss beneath his closed eyes shatter into a million pieces, forcing his eyes open. His heart stutters, breath hitches, and he feels his stomach drop through the floor. The memory of Dan calling him and PJ  _ faggots _ flash into his mind, and Phil clenches his teeth. 

"You bastard," Phil growls.

Phil is harshly shoved against the wall once more, "Don't talk to me like that, motherfucker," Dan's voice is venomous. 

Phil breathes heavily, and he feels the beginnings of a blush rising to his own pale, easily-flushable skin, bleeding into his neck, all the way up to his ears. It's out of anger. Obviously. But Phil’s heart bursts, blood singing in his ears, when he notices Dan's eyes flicker down to his lips, "Y-you're so full of shit," Phil rasps, "I can tell you want to kiss me."

"Still on that, Lester?" Dan scoffs, a stupid smirk playing along his lips, "in your fucking dreams."

"Oh yeah?" Phil challenges. And before he can register what he's doing, he's spinning them around despite the hands fighting around his shoulder and his bicep, and now Dan is pressed against the wall with his hands pinned above his head. Phil doesn't know where he gets the sudden burst of energy, but he feels the rush of adrenaline pumping in his veins, and his hands are trembling. When Dan starts struggling against the wall, Phil tightens his iron grip.  

Dan's eyes burn with fire, "you little  _ twat _ ," he pants, "let me go.” Phil doesn't miss the light dusting of rose that whips across Dan's high cheekbones, over the shadows of his scowling face. Yup. Full of shit. Although, he's having trouble keeping Dan in place, and his body finds a solution before he can tell it to stop. His hips jolt forward on their own accord. He feels a warm puff of air against his ear as they meet. It seems to silence Dan immediately. 

Dan snaps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, a muscle twitching in his jaw as his head thunks back against the wall. 

“You're blushing,” Phil muses, his voice low, and what's this - is he flirting? The words are out before he can stop them, “just admit it, Dan.” He doesn't miss the way Dan shudders. “You like this. You like being pinned to the wall, you like this proximity, you like it when I do this -” Phil, with the slightest pressure, pushes his hips into Dan’s, just  _ barely _ a soft brush of fabric. Dan’s eyes flutter shut as he harshly bites his lip in order to prevent the whimper that's threatening to escape.

It's true, Dan thinks, drunk on exhilaration. He can feel it. He can feel the warm, heady blood coursing through his body and he's tense, coiled tight, pressed against the wall—did he mention the delicious appeal of wall sex?—and it's so true. He’s fucked, he decides. Royally fucked. Although something shifts in the air around them and the crackling heat circulating between them becomes unbearable. A drop of sweat rolls down his face and his head swims. Vision warping and then flickering, Dan feels the chest-tightening feeling of anxiety knotting in his stomach. 

Something instinctive tells him it’s the  _ energy drain _ . Panic seeps into his pores, brimming into anger, then twisting into spiraling fear. Cat said he had more time. He should have more time. Why is this happening now?! The last thing he sees is the widening of Phil’s sapphire eyes, the slightest hint of worry glimmering like a swirling whirlpool, and he's sucked in, drowning, finally embracing the dark void. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooOoh dEaR i wOnDEr whAt haPpENs NeXt ;)))
> 
> as always, thank you for reading!!  
> pls leave a kudos/comment if ya enjoyed :)
> 
> tumblr @bluejazzberrys


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's your 6k words of... whatever the hell this story is  
> thank your for your kudos/comments!

Phil catches Dan’s limp body before it hits the floor in what would've been a sickening thud. The _thump thump thump_ of his heartbeat reverberates through his skull as his body grows numb.

“Dan?!” His wobbly voice sounds foreign to his own ears. He takes hold of Dan’s concerningly lifeless body and momentarily debates if he should just leave him there and run, run, run away. He's thrown off by the wave of guilt he feels seconds later. Dan wouldn't do the same to him… would he? _It doesn't matter what Dan does; you wouldn't stoop down to his level,_ a small, fretful voice chimes in his head. Phil imagines it wringing its fingers together, eyes darting, pleading with him to help Dan.

 _Oh hell, here we go then._ Phil manages to drag Dan all the way down to the infirmary. He’s huffing and puffing the whole way there, occasionally bumping into a few redundant statues, useless decor, and artificial plants along the way.

Flinging the door open, he bustles into the spotless, white-tiled room. He’s breathless and his forehead gleams in the pristine, sterile lights. The room is deserted. There’s no nurse in sight. He groans, exhausted; now he has to take care of this pompous asshole. His limbs strain as he limps over to a spare bed. He’s going to be so sore in the morning, he thinks as he leans on his knees and catches his breath.

Dan is still unconscious, but Phil can't help but notice how peaceful he looks. Despite a layer of pasty sweat covering his face, dark curls matted to his temples, he still looks breathtaking in the pale light. Phil is enchanted by the speckling of light freckles arranged on his high cheekbones - like constellations splattered in the inky night sky. If only Dan wasn't an insensitive dick all the time.

The buzzing panic inside Phil grows and he remembers that he's a man on a goddamn mission and he shouldn't be looking at Dan like some crazy, love-sick (although Phil wouldn't admit that to himself) loser. He rushes over to the sink and cranks it on to max pressure. Water pours out of the faucet in a solid blur. Thrusting a plastic cup underneath the gushing jet, he watches it fill with disappearing bubbles, before darting back to Dan, whose face is now sickeningly ashen. Phil’s heart jumps in his throat. His hand jerks the water into Dan’s innocent face.

Dan gasps. His eyes flutter open, eyelashes sticking together with droplets. He splutters for a few moments before his brown eyes lock with Phil’s blue ones and a crazed, desperate gleam sparks within them.

“ _Phil.”_

“Dan!” Phil cries, relief flickering through his veins.

Dan’s voice is a shaky wisp in the rigid air, “Phil. You have to kiss me. Now.”

Phil’s brain short-circuits. His stomach swoops as goose-flesh erupts on his tingling skin, and for a second he thinks he’s hallucinating. “I-you. Me. _What?!_ ” Dan’s eyes close, and Phil thinks he may have gone unconscious again. “Dan?!”

Dan clenches his teeth and grits, “Don't ask. Just- kiss me. _Now,_ Phil.”

Butterflies erupt in Phil’s stomach as Dan says the words aloud. “I-I ca—”

“ _Phil!_ Fucking kiss me right now.”

Phil sucks in a swift breath and, after some hesitation, finally dips down, murmuring a soft, “You asked for it,” against Dan’s warm lips.

Dan gasps wantonly beneath him and his hands fly up to cradle Phil’s burning face in his palms. The kiss is electric and searing from the moment their lips meet. Dan thinks it may have something to do with his cambion powers, but the thought flies out his head as Phil does something with his tongue that drowns out his thought-process. The room spins as he clutches onto Phil’s neck for dear life.

He doesn't notice when Phil’s hands find his hair until the sneaky things tug on his brown curls ruthlessly, which has Dan arching on the bed, toes scrunching. Phil swallows Dan’s moan and bites into the soft flesh of his lower lip. Aside from the blood roaring in his ears, Dan can hear the wet smacking of their lips as their tongues meld in a furious tandem, and it sets off spikes of molten, electric heat up his spine, and it has Dan shuddering beneath him.

When Phil pulls on his hair again, an almost helpless moan erupts from Dan’s mouth, and his face blooms crimson. Phil kisses him one last time before flinging himself off of Dan’s squirming body. The leaden silence is filled with the sound of heavy breathing.

“Shit,” Dan grunts, body tingling pleasantly; he can feel the golden energy coursing through him, wonderfully sated. Phil takes a deep breath, head spinning and heart thrumming. He glances over to Dan, and is suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. They fumble together before scrambling to pull at the ends of his top. Then one settles for scratching the back of his burning neck.

“Uh. D’you feel… better?”

“Mmmn yeah, I think,” Dan says dreamily, voice breathy. Phil feels a slight twinge of heat when he hears Dan’s voice and takes in his disheveled appearance: red, swollen lips, dark, matted curls, and a radiant, flushed face. Abruptly, Dan clears his throat and seems to straighten up, “I mean! No. No! I just. This isn't real. This is an illusion. You’re dreaming, Phil.”

Phil’s eyes narrow, “Oh _really_?” His hands perch on his hips as he swallows thickly, “And you expect me to believe that, do you?”

Dan closes his eyes and inhales. After a moment, he squeaks, “...yes?”

Phil frowns, raising an eyebrow, his eyes hazy. “Right…”

There's a loaded silence. Then Dan breaks it after it starts to become unbearable, “Wait. Phil, do you feel… ill? Unwell?”

The room is spinning and he feels kind of floaty, but Phil doesn't want to admit that, lest he sound too starstruck by a freaking _kiss_. “Uh, no. Not at all.” He bites his lip, “Should I?”

“No!” Dan says a beat too fast.

Dan has definitely gone insane, Phil concludes. “Dan, are you okay…?”

-

“I'm fine.” Dan doesn't know what to say. He wants to express his gratitude somehow, but he doesn't know how to. Although, a weight has lifted off his chest when he sees that Phil isn't lying in the floor, dead. He doesn't want to question it though. He's tempted to tell Phil he’s a cambion, but he doesn't really know Phil enough to trust him with that. But he knows he must look a little like a mad-man in Phil’s eyes. Then a cool hand is touching the heated skin of his forehead, which has him flinching back into his pillow. His eyes widen as he tries to ignore the bolt of electricity that zips through him, “What are you _doing_?” Dan squeals.

“Nope, not a fever,” Phil hums as he leans back.

Dan deadpans, “I'm not sick, Lester.”

“Sure. This is a fever dream. This is a _hallucination_ ,” Phil mocks as he waves his hands around in ridiculous voodoo gestures.

“Oh, fuck _off_ , would you?” Dan huffs, “I can’t believe you fuckin’ kissed me.”

Phil’s eyes bulge, which makes Dan’s lip twitch, “You’re the one that bloody _asked_ , you thankless-”

“And you lingered,” Dan smirks, eyes twinkling.

Phil scoffs rolling his eyes, “You know what, Howell?” His fist clenches. Dan watches him intently, that infuriating smirk growing wider. There are muffled voices growing louder behind the door. Just as Phil opens his mouth to say something, a nurse bursts through the door and starts flocking over Dan. Dan plays feint, which coils the angry itch of flame within Phil even more. He swiftly heads for the door, wanting nothing more than to leave the asshole behind, but before he leaves, he catches a glint of something smug in the chocolate of Dan’s eyes.

“Fuck you,” Phil mouths, before gladly slipping out of the damned room.

***

Cat frowns, sitting criss-cross on her too-pink bed, “Hm. I guess that _is_ pretty… strange,” She taps a painted finger against her lip as her eyes narrow in thoughtfulness. “Have you been eating your chocolate?”

Dan stops pacing in her room and glances at her sheepishly, “Oh,” he pinches the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. “Shit,” he hisses.

“Dan!” Cat’s exasperated voice rings in her small dorm room.

He drops his hand. “I'm sorry, okay? I forgot. I'll eat it.”

She scowls at him, unconvinced, as she crossed her arms, “Eat one now.”

He huffs, “But I feel fine right now.”

She purses her lips and he feels her eyes raking up and down his body. He’s getting analyzed, he realizes. Like the way he felt when he was in her room the first day. “You’re right… have you… fed from someone today?”

Dan stares down at the faded cream carpet, wondering if he should lie or not. Luckily, Cat saves him from admitting anything. “Oh my _gosh_ , you have!” She squeals as her hands cover her mouth.

Rolling his eyes, Dan’s face burns scarlet, and he tries not to feel weirded by Cat’s accuracy, “Not really _fed_ fed… we only kissed.” The air disappears from his lungs as his chest tightens. Why does it sound like he wanted it to go further?

She reaches over and swiftly smacks him playfully on the arm, “Still. Wow, I didn't expect you to find someone so soon.” Dan watches her spread crinkled newspaper on her bed. As she smooths it out, she flicks her gaze back up, “So, who was it?”

He frowns, “None of your business.”

She returns his frown, “I'm your Lilith, Dan.”

“So?” He ignores his mind’s paranoid whisperings, including the one that yelps of _dangerous waters! Follow your Lilith!_

She huffs out a sigh as she cranks open a crusted bottle of nail polish, “Goddamnit, I thought that would work. Fine.” Dan is secretly relieved; he doesn't know the extent of her powers. She flicks a piece of silver hair moodily, reverting back to her Lilith persona, “Now, you need to be eating chocolate or else you can fall into a coma, and eventually die.”

He winces, “Got it.”

“Ok good.” The poignant smell of nail polish fills the room as she starts to apply it to her toes, “You can leave now.”

“Right. Okay.” As his hand lifts to the metallic handle, Cat’s voice stops him.

“Oh, by the way—you’re coming to Tyler’s party tonight, right?” The color she’s picked is a violent magenta color. It's just slightly darker than her pink bedspread.

“Tyler's…?”

“Come on, it'll be fun,” she glances up.

“Uh…”

“You might have a chance to get another meal, if you know what I mean,” she adds cheekily.

Dan cringes internally, “Erm, okay, sure.”

What does he have to lose?

***

Phil had never wanted to go to the party, mostly because he’d been scared of meeting a specific _someone_ . It's only been several hours since the infirmary ordeal happened, and he’s still not over it. Of all people, Dan Howell was the last person he'd think of kissing. Phil didn't even know Dan was into boys until today. Well. _Is he though?_ He's still unsure because he's half-convinced that his horny mind had just made the whole incident up from a deep, dark cave hidden safe inside his imagination.

He had locked himself in his bedroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror, hands brushing over his still-tingling lips, wondering if it was all a dream. Kisses have never felt like that. They had never felt so… _electric_. That kiss had some kind of desperation to it that almost made it feel like his life was getting sucked out of his soul; it was exhilarating, despite its dizzying aftermath.

The events of what happened after the kiss are blurry; the adrenaline had worn off and he was weighed down with exhaustion. He remembers the nurse bumbling in and he had promptly slipped out of the room in a panicked exit, determinedly on the lookout for PJ.

PJ would know what to say, he had thought.

But when he found PJ in his dorm, PJ was forcing him into one of his fancier suits and propping him in front of a mirror, “Phil, you’re coming with me to Tyler’s.”

But Phil didn't want to go to Tyler’s. Dan would be there. And he’s nowhere close to emotionally (or physically) ready. He had wanted to voice those thoughts to PJ. _Dan and I—we kissed!_ But the words were stuck in his throat, and ultimately he just didn't have the strength to spit them out.

So here he is, a bundle of nerves, in Tyler’s disco-themed party. PJ drags him to the bar immediately, but Phil doesn't want to get drunk. He’s paranoid for good reasons, and he doesn't want to do something stupid. Like kiss Dan again. He wouldn't be surprised if he tried to get another taste of his tempting lips. And under the influence of alcohol? It would certainly be a recipe for disaster.

The party is crowded and rowdy as usual. Phil’s heart rate already picks up when he enters. He doesn't want to lose PJ; social anxiety is also a real problem.

And he doesn't lose PJ, until about an hour later, when a red-head chattering up his arm swings him to a circle of friends. His lungs stop functioning as he's met with a group of unfamiliar faces, and his heart jumps in his throat, and it’s suddenly too hot, and his ears ring, and it's too much. He needs to get out of here.

He darts back to the bar, blue eyes flitting frantically around. PJ is not here. All he sees is flushed, laughing faces. _It's too loud_ , Phil huffs out a frustrated sigh as his head starts pounding. And for some reason, it feels like their mocking laughter is directed at him. He's being absurd, he knows. He leaves the bar, ignoring his troubling thoughts. PJ, PJ, where did Peej go?

“Ah, lookit who t’is,” a voice drawls.

Phil stops short. He wants to cry when he hears it. The voice he’s been dreading all night. How could he have lost PJ so easily?!

He's suddenly surrounded by three looming figures. Although Phil is ridiculously tall, he feels himself crouching in on himself, shrinking under their unwavering gazes.

Dan’s cheeks are flushed already and his eyes blaze the moment their gazes meet. His stance is lazy and uncoordinated, and Phil barely has time to catch him as he trips over his own two feet, right into Phil’s chest. He shoves off of Phil in a second, and the anger that Phil has seen so many times washes over his striking features. Phil knows he's in for trouble as Dan glares at him.

“You _pushed_ me!” He hollers, “you sick _fuck_ ,” he spits. Phil winces as he’s grabbed by the collar and shoved against the wall. Dan smells strongly of the vodka he'd seen earlier and some kind of mystery cologne.

 _This is familiar,_ he thinks dryly as warning bells blare in his mind. He registers drunken snickering somewhere in the background, and he catches the other two figures as Dan’s friends, cackling into their drinks.

Before he’s able to scowl at them, a finger drags down the length of his pale, clammy face and he belatedly recognizes that Dan is touching him right there, in the sparkling lights of Tyler’s flat. His heart lodges in his throat as he blurts, “I didn't push you. You tripped over yourself.” He wants to slap himself for saying the reflexive words. Even though it's true; Dan _did_ trip over his own two feet. It's simply not fair.

He feels a puff of warm laughter against his face and the smell of alcohol wafts into his nose. “Nice try, Lester. Any more last words?” Burning hands crawl up to Phil’s neck and rest there. Phil feels his pulse strain against Dan’s hands when the grip tightens.

He backs further into the wall, fully pressing himself into it. Phil stops breathing entirely. He can only hear the erratic jack-hammering of his heart in his ears. His vision swims precariously. Maybe a final call of _help!_ can get him out of this mess.

“Phil.” Dan’s voice is unnervingly close, “open your eyes.”

His eyes snap open against his will, and his heart rate spikes. It's only him and Dan. Dan’s face flashes blue and green and neon pink beneath Tyler’s disco lights. Warped music plays in the background. Dan’s friends are gone. Probably to get more drinks, Phil thinks. How long has he been here?

His thoughts are interrupted by Dan, who blurts, “so friggin’ blue,” he swallows.

Phil feels like a bucket of water has been thrashed over him, and he thanks whatever deity up there for eliminating Dan’s murderous intentions. But he’s not sure what to expect of the sudden mood shift now. “I… thanks?”

“Phil,” Dan’s whisper ghosts over his jaw line, and all the blood that has drained away from Phil’s cheeks returns with full force. Dan is leaning against him, his grip now loose on his collar. He’s melded into Phil’s body. And Phil thinks it would be so easy to flip their positions so that Dan is crushed against the wall instead. Closing his eyes, Phil pushes the thought to the back of his mind.

Phil breathes sharply, refusing to believe this is happening right now. He's stuck in a shady corner of Tyler’s party with a drunk Daniel—of all people—who is apparently a horny drunk by the looks of it.

“Hey Phil. Phil Phil Phil.”

“What is it, Dan.” He’s surprised by how low his voice sounds, and Dan’s answering gasp confirms that he had really just used _that_ voice. Treacherous warmth floods his blood as he hears Dan’s shift of breathing. Dan’s fingertips flutter along the swell of Phil’s collarbone, hitching his breath.

Phil wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants to shove Dan off of him and run far away. He wants to melt into the steady wall behind him. But his brain decides it's a good idea to remind him of the heady kiss they shared in the infirmary. It comes out of nowhere and jolts him, because he still doesn't believe it had happened; he had thought of it as a dream. But looking at Dan now—chocolate eyes shimmering with desire—suggests otherwise. Leaning an inch closer, Dan says the words Phil has been dreading the whole night.

“Phil. Can I kiss you?”

Phil sucks in a breath, _again?_ “No.”

“Please Phil.”

“No.”

“Please?” Dan’s breath is warm against his face.

“...No. You’re drunk, Dan.” Mind fuzzing over, Phil feels his resolve slowly crumbling.

“Please. I'll die, Phil.”

A delirious giggle bursts from Phil’s lips. Dan, dramatic as usual.

“What? I'm serious.” Dan’s lidded eyes fall to Phil’s lips, and Phil watches, mesmerized, as Dan bites his own lips. Heat blossoms in his gut, and he's about to fall into temptation, but he doesn't have to because Dan is already on him.

He kisses him with frenzied hunger, hands plunging into Phil’s silky hair. Phil shudders as he feels Dan’s tongue trace along the curve of his bottom lip. The sound of his heart beating in his ears grounds him and his nerve endings burst as he reluctantly allows Dan’s hot tongue to slide inside.

His mind fogs over as their tongues meet in furious resilience, and Phil has no control over his actions when he flips them around, crowding Dan against the wall. Dan simply melts against him, moaning softly as Phil sucks on his lower lip. It sends molten heat coursing through his blood as Dan whimpers against his lips, which has Phil roughly entangling his tongue in Dan’s needy mouth. Arching into his hold, Dan mewls noisily, and the sound sends a wave of heat coursing through Phil. He can taste the potent, urgent lust densely fogging the air. Then Dan is slanting his mouth over Phil’s and they’re not so much as kissing each other as viciously devouring each other in carnal hunger as Dan groans into Phil’s mouth. Once Phil breaks away—he’s in dire need of oxygen—Dan’s blown mahogany eyes peek up at him and his swollen lips are parted in heaving breaths. The tension between them is taught like a pulled string, both wondering who will make the next move.

Dan bites his lips, still looking at Phil beneath fans of eyelashes, in that charming way that says he knows exactly what he's doing, and Phil has to look away before he does something he regrets. His breath hitches as he backs away, mind reeling, and he nearly bumps into someone’s turned shoulder. The familiar light-headed feeling he gets from Dan’s kisses seep into his brain, and the disco-lights merge into an array of colors. It's beautiful. It's dizzying. His body buzzes with a wave of anxious-induced nausea.

The horror creeps down on him when he processes what he had just done. And the words he thought of earlier in the party echo in his brain: _I need to get out of here._ He blearily takes off without another glance at the disheveled boy behind him. He doesn't know if he’ll be able to face Dan again, if ever.

PJ will forgive him for leaving. He’ll have to once he hears why. He blindly fishes his way through stuffy air, maneuvering through the lines and lines of sticky bodies and endless crowds of laughter. His heart thumps to the rhythm of the base on the whole journey. He narrowly avoids a splash of alcohol from someone’s clumsy hand as a bubble of giggles breaks behind him. Once he bursts through the doorway, past the throngs of sweaty people, he can finally breathe again.

The cool air of the midnight sky is refreshing against his flushed skin as he bolts out of Tyler’s flat. A fully pale moon shines on the dark streets. It's a good night for a brisk walk.

***

“No no _no!_ You don't understand—I… I was drunk! It wasn't meant to happen!” Dan buries his hands into his face. He had refused to show up to class today. How could he show up after _that_ had happened?!

“Look, Dan,” Cat’s voice rings annoyingly, adding to the hammering in his head. He winces. The hangover was partly the reason for why he didn't attend class as well, regardless of the embarrassment. “I would just talk to Phil about it. He obviously liked it, from what you described.”

Did he though? Or was that his saliva? As gross as it sounds, incubus and succubus saliva works as an aphrodisiac. He remembers reading it somewhere. Once he voices this out to Cat, he's still getting stubborn refusal.

“Yes, I know that Dan, but it doesn't matter. Honestly I'm surprised he's not dead yet.”

The words cause an unsettling lurch in his stomach, “What if he is?! I didn't go to class today. For all I could now, he could be dead on the streets right now.”

A hand rests on his shoulder, providing little relief, “Dan,” Cat speaks slowly, as if talking to a small child, “Phil is not dead. I saw him in class today.”

Dan flicks his eyes up to meet hers, “You did?!”

“Yes,” Cat confirms. The leaden rock in his chest dissolves.

“Well. That's good, I guess,” he says distractedly. How is Phil alive? Maybe they only die if they go all the way; he had only kissed Phil.

“Good? You should be feeling a lot better now that you’ve fed off of him _twice_ in one day.”

He _is_ feeling better, but the light airiness is covered by a fog of guilt. He doesn't like the _feeding_ _off Phil_ wording. He doesn't like that he has to ‘feed off’ of anyone. He doesn't want to harm someone else. But he has no choice. The familiar weight of his self-deprecation for being an incubus settles down on him, shrouding over him like a camouflaged blanket.

“Why did I kiss Phil though? Of all people, why Phil?!”

“Well, you had no choice the first time,” Cat says, crossing her arms.

Yes, a valid point. But that doesn't explain why he had kissed him a second time.

“You were drunk the second time,” Cat adds, reading his mind, “y’know, lowered inhibitions and all...?”

“But why did I _kiss_ _him_?!”

“You tell me, Dan,” She huffs, “Obviously you’re attracted to him.”

Dan whips his head up, and his heart pounds for an inexplicable reason, “I. Don't. Like. Phil.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Um. You kissed him. Twice. In a row.”

“Because I was _dying_!”

“And what ‘bout the second time, hmm? Certainly you weren't dying then.” She must notice Dan’s turmoiled expression, because she frowns, “What's wrong with you? Phil is _hot_. I would've snatched him up by now if he wasn't human.”

Dan’s mind races a mile a minute, questions bombarding him. _How do you even know I like him? You think he’s hot? Is Phil hot? What is hot? Am I gay? What the fuck even is my sexuality? Am I attracted to Phil or is that the cambion within me? Is it a literal natural attraction? Who am I? Am I the cambion or am I me? How has Phil not died yet? Why do I need sex to live? Why couldn't I have been born a regular human? Why is Phil so hot?_

By the time he’s gone around full circle, he finally blurts out, “I'm not gay.” Dan’s fingers clench. His stomach twists into knots. Of all the questions, his brain chose to focus on that one. Why?

Cat snorts, before full-on cackling, “You—oh god. Dan. You literally told me the first day we properly met, ‘I'm gay,’ did you forget?”

Dan sighs violently and cries, “I didn't _mean_ it, Cat. I was lying because I didn't want to hook up with you.” He wants to swallow his words as he realizes how offensive it sounds. He realizes it too late, though; a hushed silence falls over them… Cat’s microwave beeps, a bird chirps outside, and the clink of a message notification goes off…  the seconds tick by agonizingly.

At last, Cat purses her lips, eyes guarded, “Okay, Dan. You’re not gay.”

Dan feels his stomach drop through the floor. He wants to take it back immediately. He wants her to fight with him. He wants her to throttle him and shake him by the shoulders, screaming, _Yes! You are gay! Stop lying to yourself! You’ve never been attracted to a girl in your life._ Has he? Tears prick his eyes. He can't take any more whiplash from his brain; it's utterly exhausting. He closes them and takes a shaky breath.

Swallowing around the ball of cotton lodged in his throat, he murmurs, “Okay.” His voice sounds soft to his own ears. He wonders if Cat had even heard it. Vision blurring, he casts his gaze down to the magenta bedspread. Cat opens her mouth and then closes it. His body turns stone-cold as his heart plummets. Before she can respond, he whips around, determined to get away from her, to get out of the small room—too pink for its own good—immediately.

 

_Earlier that day…_

 

Phil stares blankly at Dan’s empty seat. The pit in his chest grows and the imaginary dagger plunges into the gaping hole further.

PJ smooths a hand over his shoulder, “It's probably just the hangover, Phil.”

Phil smiles weakly. It probably _is_ the hangover, but that doesn't stop his treacherous thoughts. Although he is slightly relieved that PJ is with him. He had needed his emotional support last night, which was a mess. The flashback is still fresh in his mind:

His face is wet with tears as PJ stumbles through their dorm. Before PJ can ask why he's crying or why he had left early, Phil erupts, sobbing, “Dan kissed me!”

“Slow down, Phil,” PJ is already by his side, rubbing a consoling hand over his shuddering back. He smells like sweet pine, hints of alcohol, and the sharpness of the summer night air.

“He kissed me, Peej,” Phil chokes, “Twice!”

“Are we talking about the same Dan here?” PJ’s voice is smooth and steady. “The one who called us a pair of faggots the other day?”

Phil winces with the memory, “ _Yes!_ ”

“...Did you kiss him back?”

Phil sighs, a helpless sound, pathetic to his own ears, “Of course I did. He didn't really give me a choice.” Phil’s chest tightens as the lie slips out. He didn't mean it like that.

But it's too late. PJ tenses beside him, his body suddenly rigid, “He… assaulted you?” His voice is deathly low.

“No!”

“Oh,” PJ’s shoulders loosen, “then…?”

“It just— _happened_ Peej, I… I couldn't control it. I don't know how it happened. It’s like I was under some kind of—some kind of _spell_ or something.” Phil sniffs, “I still can't process it. I don't know what to do now. How will I face him tomorrow now? Oh my god, what do I _do_?” Phil buries his head in his hands and hiccups, “what do I do now, Peej?”

“Hey, it's okay, Phil. Things happen. Shit happens,” PJ hushes as he wraps an arm around Phil’s shoulders. Phil’s heart fills gradually with PJ’s soft words of encouragement. He's so lucky to have a friend like PJ, he thinks errantly as he snuggles into their makeshift cocoon. “It's okay Phil. Dan will probably be even more worried than you. He was the one who initiated it, right?”

Phil doesn't have the strength to tell PJ that he had continued it. That he had pushed Dan into a wall and kissed him harder. That he had buried his hands in those curls to hear his pleasure-filled sounds drip from his tempting lips. He can only clamp his mouth shut and nod wordlessly and sniffle and cry. PJ says something then, but it's said with such a soft caution that he can't hear it.

Phil mumbles, “What?”

He feels PJ’s inhale. “Do you like… him?”

“Dan?”

“Yeah—do you like Dan?”

“What?” he's always thought Dan was attractive, but he's never given him much of a romantic thought. Dan was always too much of a dick to make him consider that. But now, Phil finds himself hesitating. Why is he hesitating? Before he can overthink, before the panic can get to him, he asserts, “No.”

A shadow flickers over PJ’s face, but it's gone so fast that Phil thinks he must've imagined it. Still, Phil’s heart twists with his reaction. He wonders if PJ will ever forgive Dan for being an asshole. _Will I forgive him?_

So when he sees Dan’s empty seat the next day, he doesn't know whether the rock in his chest feels heavier or lighter. And when Dan returns the day after that with a ghostly pale face, puffy eyes, and dark circles, Phil doesn't notice he’s staring until Dan points it out with a scratchy voice.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“You bastard, you know _exactly_ how,” Dan sneers.

“You look like shit,” Phil’s mouth is on autopilot. Dan glares weakly, but doesn't respond because he probably knows it's true. Phil wants to slap himself. Did he really just say that? He needs more sleep. Sleep. Sleep is important. He realizes, belatedly, that he doesn't look much better; he didn't get any sleep last night and he probably has a matching pair of brown circles on his own pale face. Twenty minutes of silent studying stretches out between them, both trying to avoid the purple elephant in the room.

Finally Dan shines some light on it. “I was… frustrated,” he blurts. His eyes widen comically a moment later, as if he wasn't expecting the words to actually come out.

He hears PJ cough lightly at his side, and it sounds oddly like, “sexually frustrated.”

Dan narrows his eyes, but finds he can't deny it once again. Then his mouth runs without his consent, heart thudding in his chest as the words tumble out, “I-it didn't mean anything.”

“Of course it didn't mean anything,” Phil says without a beat.

A dense silence falls, and Dan looks like he’s trying to mask his surprise… and disappointment? Phil was prepared for the _it didn’t mean anything_ kind of comment though; he had plenty of time to debate about all the possibilities overnight. So he doesn't know why Dan’s words still hurt. Why would they? It’s not like he cares. Why would he want it to mean anything, anyway? He doesn’t. Obviously.

Anger flashes over Dan’s face, “Shut the fuck up, Lester, you don't know what you’re playing with.”

Those are the last words he hears from Dan—for a long time. Dan vigorously avoids him in class; he's aloof and indifferent. It’s disorienting because Phil is so used to his commentary. Even though he had always spouted insults and curses at him, Phil is taken aback with the surge of longing he feels just to hear the smoothness of his voice again. And _what the hell? Where is that coming from?_

Dan avoids him in the hallways too. And on the rare occasion that they _do_ bump into each other, he only mutters gruff apologies before ducking out of the corridor, and Phil can only stare after his retreating figure as the dagger pierces its way into his heart even more. For some reason it’s more painful than being physically pummeled.

He wants to call after him. He wants to shout at him. He wants Dan to push him against the wall again. He wants him to go back to normal because the silence is killing him, obliterating his fragile heart to pieces.

It lasts for one week. One week stretches out into one month. The bags under Dan’s eyes get lighter, but he seems frailer and frailer each day.

Phil just wants it all to stop. He doesn’t want to develop chronic insomnia. Then finally, his wishes are answered.

It happens as the second month drearily rolls by. Phil is in the lounge, watching _Call Me By Your Name_ , when he feels something wet fall on his wrist. He sits up to inspect it. It’s a small bead of liquid. Another fat drop clunks squarely down on the back of his head. _Water?_ Whatever it is, Phil hopes it isn’t sewage. His heart thumps in his chest as he squints up at the source. His jaw drops.

A steady stream of _who knows what_ trickles down from the ceiling, the flow rate alarmingly increasing every second.

“Peej?” Phil calls. There’s a tremor in his voice.

“Yeah?”

“Our—the roof—the roof is leaking!”

“What…?”

“ _The roof is leaking!_ ”

A beat later, Pj’s footsteps are thundering on the carpeted floor. His forest eyes meet Phil’s panicked-stricken gaze.

“Well-! Shit!” PJ says eloquently.

They report it to the Dean—after frantically thrusting all the bowls they collectively owned underneath the relentless pouring—and are informed that they have no other choice but to separate. There are no single-room dorms available, and all double-roomed dorms are occupied by at least one other person; empty double-roomed dorms are not an option.

“We deserve a refund,” PJ cries indignantly.

“We will try to make arrangements promptly,” the dean responds curtly. Phil already knows the refund is not happening. “In the meantime,” he continues, voice clipped, “there is, fortunately, some space left in the luxurious double-dorms, on the west side of campus. They're occupied by another person, but it's all we have for now.”

Two separate keys are pressed into their reluctant hands. They share a look filled with remorse and betrayal. Then Phil is engulfed in a warm hug, which he returns whole-heartedly; he throws his arms around PJ and squeezes. PJ smells of rich pine and it suddenly hits Phil: he really is going to miss sharing a dorm with PJ. He's been in Phil’s life since childhood.

“Let’s just hope our roommates aren’t complete _twats_ ,”  PJ mutters into his shoulder. Phil hums in agreement, unable to form words around his tight throat.

“Your stuff is already sent,” the Dean says with another one of those close-lipped smiles.

When Phil unlocks his so-called _luxurious_ dorm, his stomach sinks to his feet; the voice that greets him turns his blood to a slushed, frigid ice:

“Oh, you have _got_ to be fucking kidding me.”

**End of part 1.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUN  
> i wonder??? who??? that could be????
> 
> on a more serious note, there might be a short break before next chapter is out - sorreh life gets in the way, i guess #thanksgraduation  
> hopefully before july
> 
> tumblr @bluejazzberrys  
> thanks for reading!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and they were roommates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sike hi im bacc on time :')

Dan hasn't spoken to Cat in the past few months. Ever since his cold exit on that fated day, their conversation had dwindled and eventually died out. The problem was, he had needed her advice the most during that dire time; after that day, everything went downhill. 

He was constantly throwing up every meal he ate, even though he always felt this sudden, unbearable hunger immediately afterwards. It wasn't hunger for food, he knew, but he couldn't help hoping. He cried himself to sleep most days, wishing he could be normal. One night, he made a decision: he  _ was _ normal. He would live a normal life. 

So that first month, he tried eating food. He forced it into his body. It was no use, though - his body rejected the food like it was sent from the pits of hell. His heart had sunk to his toes; it felt like a crucial piece of his body was missing. He would never be able to enjoy food again. After two weeks, he stopped trying. 

Then the chocolate. In one hot, late August night, he had stuffed himself with the sticky delight. His fingers had been smeared with the sweet goodness as it melted in his mouth. The insatiable, burning hunger in his gut had diminished temporarily. He didn't vomit. He sat there, contemplating his new existence, as he licked each finger clean. He knew the burn of hunger would never completely leave, but it was a start. 

That wasn't the only reason he needed Cat’s advice, however. He was worried about Phil. During those months, and he had convinced himself that he never had any feelings for Phil in the first place. He had just caught Phil in the wrong place at the wrong time - both at the infirmary and at Tyler’s party. Distancing himself from Phil had helped him realize it too. His recurring dreams stopped featuring Phil, which was odd, but he had shoved away any treacherous feelings.

He also needed Cat because the weight of finding another cambion was getting heavier and heavier each day. _February or_ _March—max_ , Cat had said. How long can he depend on chocolate?

October is when a new roommate moves in. Dan had been informed that another person would be moving into his flat, which left a bitter taste in his mouth. Sure, he was overcome by waves of loneliness on most days, but he had always liked living alone in his isolated double-dorm. And now some other twat would be moving in. 

But he never expected it to be Phil. 

And now here he stands, in flesh and bone, more gorgeous than he had ever remembered. His jet-black hair is styled in a quiff, and Dan is starting to have breathing problems as he takes in the black skinny jeans, the animated t-shirt, the shocked cerulean eyes. 

So of course months of careful avoidance would have him saying something stupid like, “Oh, you have  _ got _ to be fucking kidding me.”

Phil stares at him like a deer in headlights, his jaw almost comically hanging open. Dan would have laughed aloud in different circumstances.

- 

“Dan?” Phil peeps, turning an endearing shade of pink. Dan simply raises his eyebrows as his arms fold. 

They stand there for a couple more seconds as Phil fidgets incessantly.

A thought dawns on Phil: this could be their chance to start fresh. A blend of dread, hope, anger, and shock merge into a single emotion as his hand flings into the air, “Friends?” The floor drops beneath Phil. He wants to slap his own hand away. His mind aggressively spits curses at him,  _ Why? Why would you do that? Why would you want to be friends with him?! Dan Howell, of all people. You’ve stooped down to a new all-time low. And what makes you think he wants to be friends with /you/?! He's been avoiding you for reasons.  _ He wants to burn his own brain. He wants to jump out the window so he can just fall and fall and fall forever. He wants to run back to his flooded flat and drown there in peace. He wants to be  _ anywhere _ but here. It feels like his hand is extended in the air for ten hours, even though it really must've been ten seconds. 

But his breath is sucked out of his lungs as Dan’s hand envelopes around his own. Dan’s brown eyes look different when they’re not glaring holes into people. Phil wonders if he's the only one who feels the flood of warmth enter his chest cavity as their hands meet, and his breath hitches as Dan squeezes it gently.  _ Gently _ —a word he would've never associated with Dan. 

“Friends,” Dan confirms, a dimple poking its way through his cheek. Phil almost cries in relief as he returns the tentative smile.

… Or at least, that’s what Phil had  _ hoped _ would happen (the imagination is truly a cruel thing). What really happens is much, much more painfully real - a stupid hope that was nowhere close to the painful slap of reality. He can practically hear the record scratch reverberating through his skull as Dan’s guarded eyes glint with something akin to malice. Phil swallows and retracts his clammy hand as Dan’s voice filters between the erratic bursts of his heartbeat.

There’s hints of incredulous undertones beneath the scoff, “Friends?” His lip curls, “you want to be  _ friends? _ ”

Well, he should’ve expected nothing different. But sometimes hope is less painful than the truth. Phil’s hand curls, his throat tight with a blend of fury and shame. His eyes flit to the dark, glossed, wooden panes of the floor. His socks are mismatched and brilliantly colored in contrast to Dan’s all-absorbent black ones. He watches them disappear from his vision, and for some reason the weight in his chest feels lighter, yet heavier at the same time, and his spine wrenches with a frustrating jumble of emotions. Dan’s messy curls disappears behind the door -  _ slam! _ \- and Phil finally releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

His hand tingles, yearning to grab the front door and run out of there, but he has no choice but to stay. Phil idly wonders if the forces of the universe are just working together to subject him to the worse misery. Because that’s what the next few days entail: misery.

***

If someone asked Phil whether he had expected to have Dan Howell writhing beneath him in agony the next morning, he wouldn’t have been able to come up with a coherent response, let alone a,  _ who? _

Phil wakes up early and disoriented; it takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings. His room is different, and—oh yeah, he’s in Howell’s dorm. Well,  _ their _ dorm now. Phil exhales lengthily through his nose, his heart suddenly feeling ice-cold in the warmth of his bed. Reluctantly, he rises from the toasty covers and blinks slowly, his eyes still blurred with sleep.

He didn’t get much sleep last night; Howell had scared it out of him. He wishes he could just stay in bed and wallow all day, but… he doesn’t want to ruin his perfect attendance. Running through his morning routine, Phil makes his way to the kitchen, where he spots a box of cereal sitting innocently on the countertop. It has to be Howell’s, Phil thinks. His fingers itch to steal it. It’s petty, but he can’t deny the urge. Howell is an annoying asshole and probably deserves it anyway. Besides, Howell wouldn’t notice, right? Phil doesn’t hesitate to steal a handful of sweet flakes. The first thing he does when he leaves the cursed dorm is text PJ.

[Phil|11:11]  _ This is already torture _

He surprised at PJ’s prompt response.

[Peej|11:11]  _ Really?? My roommate’s Chris! _

Phil is thrown off by the dark tendrils of jealousy that wring around his heart. It’s not fair; why couldn’t he get a pleasant roomate? Why did he get Dan? Why? Why does the universe hate him?

[Phil|11:13]  _ lucky bastard :((  _

[Peej|11:14] _ why who’s ur roomie? Some beast? _

Phil scoffs. Howell might as well be one… and not in an attractive way… or maybe—no, no, certainly not. How could he even think that? Howell’s a monster, plain and simple.

_ Phil: Dan Howell’s my damn roommate.  _

_ Peej: mate!! :o _

_ Phil: Kill meh _

_ Peej: aww that actually sucks phil. I would’ve traded if it were anyone but him. _

_ Phil: I know :(( this sucks, I’m sad T.T _

_ Peej: where are you? Did you skip class today cuz of him or smth _

_ Phil: No no I’m almost there _

Phil scoffs, his breath puffing out in a frigid cloud. Like he would skip class because of damned Howell.  _ Really, Peej? I’m stronger than that, I’d like to hope.  _ He wishes he could admire the crisp scarlet leaves and the tranquil, frozen lake that he passes by, but he barely notices them, too lost in his own bitter thoughts. He's enveloped by warmth when he enters the class. The first thing he spots is the messy head of brown curls, and he feels his lips turn downwards instinctively. But when he meets PJ’s viridescent eyes, the weight in his chest lightens. 

“Where’s Chris, then?” Phil mumbles as he settles down at their table.

“Y’know Chris,” PJ smiles, like it’s some secret, “probably late.”

Phil nods distractedly as he glances properly around the room. There’s not too many people in class yet; there’s still plenty of time before class starts. He’s almost surprised Dan is here so early—almost surprised Dan is even  _ here. _ His gaze lands on Dan without his consent. 

Dan’s hood is on, and his black headphones are snaking out from beneath it and blending in with the darkness of his clothing. Dan is probably still not talking to him. Phil doesn’t have a problem with that though—far from it. It’s one of those rare times that Dan is in class, anyway, after all of the days of avoidance. Dan has been quiet all this time, and it’s throwing Phil off. Wait, why does he even  _ care? _ He pushes the thoughts away and glances back towards PJ, who’s forest eyes are glimmering with confusion.

“Phil.”

Phil’s head snaps up. Was that Dan’s voice? Did Dan just call him by his first name? Are they on first name basis now? No, it couldn’t have been Dan. He’s going insane; he’s just imagining Dan’s voice in his ears now.

“ _ Phil. _ ” It’s undoubtedly Dan’s voice.

Phil meets Dan’s eyes, and his stomach drops. Oh. Oh no, that’s not a good look. Dark chocolate irises are glaring holes into his skin. A shudder passes down Phil’s spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck raise.

“Did you… eat my crunchy-nut?” Dan speaks slowly, his voice deathly calm and unwavering.

Phil’s breath hitches, and he hides it with a nervous giggle, “Your munchy-what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Lester,” Dan snaps. Phil sucks in a breath. PJ furrows his eyebrows. Phil’s eyes dart to the side, where they focus on a glob of bright red paint splotched on the cream-tiled linoleum. 

“I have… no idea what you’re on about.” How would Dan know if he’s telling the truth, anyway?

Dan narrows his eyes, “Liar,” he growls. Phil’s heart decides to make itself known, thumping loudly in the confines of his chest. He can’t know. He wouldn’t. “I can literally  _ smell _ it on you.”

Phil’s eyes bulge.  _ Smell? How? What? Just how strong is this guy’s sense of sme- _

Something collides into Phil, sending him sprawling backwards onto the floor. His stool flings over and makes a horrible clanging sound, which echoes in his ears. A burst of stars erupt in his vision. The familiar weight of Dan Howell struggles over him, pinning him to the ground, and suddenly a large hand is scrambling at his throat. Really? For stealing some cereal? Maybe it’s all the bottled up emotions and the days of avoidance and bitter anger, but whatever it is, Dan is freaking crazy.

“What the  _ fuck! _ ” Phil grunts, his voice strangled and his skin vibrating with adrenaline. Before he can control himself, he’s immediately grabbing Dan’s shoulder and shoving him against the floor, switching their positions. A hand fumbles over his shoulder as he firmly pushes Dan down. Somewhere, he hears PJ’s loud gasp, and the thundering footsteps of other students, all probably rushing close to catch the show. 

Dan is underneath him now, his eyes widening comically for a split-second before his face morphs into a scowl—one that Phil is poised to hit. But something stops him. A moment before his buzzing knuckles make contact, his hand stops itself. The skin above his knuckles tingles. Blood roars in his ears. A mingling of voices are screaming in his mind, the sounds clashing and unsynchronized; one is hissing,  _ yes, sucker-punch the bastard! _ as another one pleads,  _ no, don’t, Phil! _

“What?” Dan heaves, glaring at Phil’s shaking fist, “Do it.” His earphones were probably torn out during the scuffle because they now lie tangled over Dan’s steadily moving chest. 

Phil frowns, “I…  can’t,” shifting off of Dan’s body. His skin buzzes and the rush of adrenaline slowly drains away. Self-loathing drips into his bones. He’s too merciful.  _ Weak, Phil. You’re weak,  _ the hissing voice whispers in the back of his mind.

Dan sits up, “Pussy,” he mutters, nearly low enough for it to go unheard, if it were anyone but Phil. Phil hears it.

The sound of Phil’s knuckles cracking against Dan’s cheek rings loud and clear in the classroom. It’s a beautiful, heart filling sound that lifts Phil’s chest. Phil is drunk on PJ’s giggles and Dan’s pained groan, and the audible gasps of all the gossiping onlookers. 

“Fuck,” Dan’s hand cradles his cheek, “What the hell was that for?”

Phil shrugs, his mouth twitching and his fist tingling, “You asked.” Has he spoken those words in a different context? “Again,” Phil adds, lips quirking.

Dan’s face turns a blistering shade of red, and Phil feels a surge of satisfaction curling in his chest.

“Students! In your seats, please.”

“This isn’t over,” Dan shoves Phil as he stands up and marches to his seat. Phil rolls his eyes before returning to his own seat. He shares a smirk with PJ.

Class continues, and Dan and Phil try to ignore the unresolved tension hanging around them… And they try to ignore it when class ends, too… And they try to ignore it when they reach their shared dorm, too… But can they ignore it forever? 

When Phil returns to their dorm—with some reasonable trepidation—Dan is standing right there, as glorious as ever, is face twisted into a frown. 

Phil’s heart starts pounding beneath his ribcage the moment he sees him. How is he going to live here for the rest of semester if just the presence of his roommate scares him to death? The door clicks feebly behind Phil. 

“Uh,” Phil begins, toeing off his shoes, prepared to bolt to his room if needed. He’s used to Dan’s unpredictable behavior by now… or so he hopes. Dan crosses his arms. There's a slight darkening of skin dusted along the edge of his jaw. Phil’s breath catches.  _ He _ did that.  _ He _ put that bruise on Dan’s face. His fingers twitch with the memory, and his hand clenches reflexively. Mind reeling in a blend of horror and pride, he pushes down the absurd urge to apologize. 

“Y’know…” Dan finally starts after the silence borders on unbearable, “it was legacy chocolate-flavored.” 

Phil nearly snorts, but manages to hold it back. “Are you serious?” He feels his eyebrows raise. After a pause that says,  _ yes I’m fucking serious, _ Phil’s voice fills with incredulousness, “It's  _ cereal _ , Howell. Cereal.” 

Dan ignores him, and looks to the side, and then finally decides to get to business. “You’re gonna pay for what happened this morning, mate,” Dan squares his shoulders and steps forwards, cornering Phil against the door. 

A surge of anger consumes Phil out of nowhere. It claws around his heart and invades his skin, poisoning it with rage. “Pay for it? With what? My  _ fists? _ ” Phil seethes, thrusting said fist into the air, and narrowly missing his own face, “m‘fraid I've already done so,  _ mate _ .” 

Dan’s eyes flare. Instead of backing down like Phil usually would, though, the sight only adds fuel to the fire. Phil can feel everything piling up, like some horrible, hurtling snowball, spiraling uncontrollably through the air, slipping out of his grasp. Except instead of snow, it's a ball of crackling  _ flames _ and suffocating smoke.

Phil tries to stop himself, he really does, but the forbidden words are already tumbling out (months of miscommunication will do that). His thoughts are all incoherent, swarming in his brain like irritated bees. He wishes he can shut them up, but instead he's spitting them out, “Or maybe my body, is that what you mean? You're gonna kiss me out of nowhere, like some crazed slut? Like you did back at the infirmary? Is that what this is? Is that how you want me to ‘pay for it’?” Phil’s heart is thundering in his ears, and—fuck, he’s done it now. He wants to swallow his words right back up, but they’ve already been thrown out into the heated air.

Dan looks absolutely livid, his eyes blazing and his jaw locked in a perpetually-clenched state. Phil doesn’t miss the way his fingers twitch at his side, as if itching to hit something. Phil gulps. When Dan speaks, his voice is sizzling like sulfuric acid, “Shut  _ up _ , Lester. Shut up! You don't know what the  _ fuck  _ you're talking about.” A finger jams into the space between Phil’s shoulder and chest. Phil winces, but his chest surges with indignancy. “You better watch that mouth of yours, or I—“

“What? You’ll  _ what _ ?” Phil feels like he’s stepping on glass when he steps forwards, but Dan’s abrupt silence prompts him to continue spiraling down the enraged path he's carved out for himself. The ball of flames keeps barrelling onwards, past Phil’s reach. “What’re you gonna do, kill me?” Phil huffs, his mouth quirking in a twisted grimace. He feels high on something, but he doesn’t know what. Before he can stop his stupid mouth, he’s adding on a soft, shrewd, taunting, “Kiss me?”

Dan’s mouth turns into a rigid line, his eyes sparking with unbridled wrath. Immediately, Phil knows he’s crossed a non-verbal line. “SHUT UP!” Dan explodes, his voice ringing off the walls. Phil flinches. He doesn’t even realize how close they’ve gotten; he can feel the heat of Dan’s uneven, ragged breaths on his face. Dan’s chest heaves and his hands are balled into tight fists. “Shut up,” Dan repeats defeatedly, a tremor in his voice. His cheeks are florid-red hot with anger, but his eyes have skittered to the floor. Phil feels something squeeze around his heart when Dan’s face crumples. Fuck. The sound of Dan’s voice slaps Phil out of his enraged trance like a bucket of water has been hurled at him. He wants to take it back. He wants to take it all back.

“Dan, I… ”  _ I’m sorry.  _ Phil hates that he doesn’t have the strength to say it. 

“You’re right,” Dan croaks, closing his doe-eyes and inhaling sharply. Phil swallows around the ball of cotton building in his throat. A shard of glass pierces his chest. “You’re  _ right,  _ Phil.” Phil frowns. There’s something off in Dan’s voice. It’s raw and vulnerable, laced with self-loathing and something else that’s infuriatingly indiscernible and insufferable to hear. Phil's mind whirls, and not only because Dan used his first name again. Dan sniffs once, and then he’s turning on his heel and striding out of Phil’s vision.

“Dan, wait—!”

A door slams. Phil’s heart plummets to his toes. The sound of the door echoes in his eardrums. He feels like Dan has ripped something out from him, like he’s stolen some kind of critical internal organ. Phil chews on his lip. His blood turns frigid-cold when he hears the small whimpers coming from Dan’s room. Phil freezes. Dan is…  _ crying?  _ His stomach churns and his limbs lock up. He has absolutely no idea what to do. His jaw clenches as he tries to block out the sound of Dan’s soft sniffing.

There was something hidden there - something hidden deep under wraps - that Phil had just caught a glimpse of. Phil doesn’t know how to feel. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a dark chuckle reverberates,  _ he deserves it.  _ Does he, though? Does anyone deserve to feel like that? Phil feels a surge of regret when he remembers Dan’s trembling voice, lanced with scorn and self-contempt. Sure, Dan is not the greatest human out there, but he’s not necessarily the  _ worst _ one either. Besides, Phil doesn’t want to stoop down to his level and hurt him just because he feels like shit himself. 

And it’s more than just being a regular bully—is Dan even considered one? _Yes,_ the response is immediate. It’s a voice of reason, and logically, considering the events of last year, he _should_ be considered a bully. But that’s the thing— _was;_ that was in the past. This year took a whole different turn—one that threw off the whole dynamic of their relationship. First off, Dan hadn’t bullied him that much this year compared to the last; he’s been avoiding him like the plague (is it better or worse? Definitely an improvement in Phil’s dictionary). Besides, there’s the whole fact that Dan had _kissed_ him this year, out of nowhere. Twice. Phil feels his face warm at just the memory of it. 

Phil doesn't know how to feel, but there’s one thing he knows for sure: he never wants to see that haunting expression of tortured despair flitting over Dan’s face again. Something has to change. Maybe he’s read Dan wrong this whole time. Maybe he’s been blinded by his vengeful feelings. Maybe he’s overthinking things and being an absolute idiot. Either way, he starts to see Dan in a new light.

***

Dan is weak. He’s a weak, stupid, stupid fool, and a goddamn coward. But Phil’s words carved a hole into his chest, and unraveled the damn hateful, insecure feelings that have been hidden deep down in a dark cave within his mind, but now they’re out in the open air, and they fucking  _ hurt _ . Phil  _ is _ right. Dan had to run out of there because he wanted nothing more than to kiss the living daylights out of Phil. He couldn’t help it; Phil was so damn  _ close _ , and his cerulean eyes were blazing like blue flames, and Dan was lost in the embers. It had hitched his heart rate and started a low simmer in his stomach, and warmed his cheeks, but Dan had pushed all those  _ distractions _ away and channeled the energy into rage. Besides, he can't kiss Phil anyway. Phil is human. For some reason, the realization has his stomach twisting. Dan swallows. Why did he get that random wave of horniness, anyway?

It’s probably because of his damned incubus qualities; Phil is right. He  _ is _ a damn slut, a  _ whore _ … but it’s uncontrollable. He didn’t ask for this life. He never wanted to be this damned, cursed…  _ incubus.  _ Even the word sounds tainted in his mind, invading into his brain with a hiss and worming into his skin with a vice grip. It’s not the first time he’s hated being this cursed creature. He doesn’t want to spiral back into the hole of self-deprecation, but it seems he already has. 

Another hot tear slips down his cheek, and he stubbornly wipes it away. He shudders.  _ It’s not fair.  _ Maybe he kind of deserved Phil’s enraged words, but it still hurts; it still shrivels up his heart and cuts a gash into his chest. He has a sudden urge to leave. How can he live here with Phil anymore? Phil’s only going to taunt him about this stupid kiss fiasco more, now that he admitted to it,  _ you’re right, Phil _ . Abruptly, a wave of self-directed resentment crawls into his bones. Why did he admit to it? He shouldn’t have. Now Phil knows he’s an obsessed sex-fiend… and he wouldn't be entirely wrong.  Although, at least his  _ real _ secret isn’t out yet. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if Phil—or anyone for that matter—found out if he was an incubus. Only he knows… and his Lilith, of course.

Maybe he should text Cat to distract himself, or to find some comfort in this wretched,  _ dirty _ identity. He shudders again. He was a late bloomer; how did Cat even  _ survive  _ through her teen years? He’s only been an incubus for a few months, but he’s already having an identity crisis every week. It’s torture. He  _ hates  _ this. He hates being this damned, incurable, cursed, miserable, soul-sucking demon—

A series of successive knocks interrupts his turmoil. Dan sniffs and wills his tears to get sucked back into his eyes.  _ Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock.  _

“Dan…?”

Dan rubs a hand over his splotched face, “What?” He snaps after taking a shuddery breath. 

“I just wanted to say… I'm sorry.” Phil's voice is muffled past his door. 

Dan swallows, and then quirks an eyebrow as he slowly shifts up from his bed, “For what?” 

There's a pause. “For… stealing your cereal…” Dan rolls his eyes, and he’s about to retort something nasty when Phil continues, “And-! And for saying those… terrible, terrible things. I'm sorry; I didn't mean anything I said.” Dan doesn’t respond. Phil clears his throat, “I was just… completely…uh,  _ consumed  _ by anger. And, I uh… I didn't think. Just… just remember I'm here, okay?” Dan’s eyes narrow. Where did that come from? Here for what? What is he even saying? “I mean!” Phil rushes to say, panic blending into his voice, “I mean, I… if… if you need… fuck,” Phil mutters. Dan’s lip curves without his consent when he hears Phil’s internal struggle. He flips the door open, and Phil’s face of utter surprise is so pure that he wishes he had taken a picture of it. At least it's captured in his memory.

“If I need a fuck?” Dan cocks his eyebrow. 

“What?!” Phil utters, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves as his face flashes a soft shade of pink, “No! No, if you need  _ help _ .” 

Dan frowns. Does Phil think he's weak too? Is that his new level of low? To be comforted by his own damn victims? “I don't need your fucking sympathy,” Dan almost winces at the bitterness of his own tone. He hears Phil’s sharp intake of breath. 

“I know,” Phil’s voice is sincere, his eyes an azure blue, “I’m sorry, I didn't mean it like - ” 

“Then what do you mean it like?” Dan crosses his arms again. 

Phil freezes, his crystal eyes wide and his forehead gleaming with sweat, “I meant, like, if you ever needed someone to talk to. Like, it's okay, I mean… I'm here, like—fuck.” Phil sighs, “I  _ mean _ if you ever need to talk to someone—anyone… I'm—don't hesitate to talk to me.” Phil swallows audibly as Dan’s arms uncross.

-

After a loaded pause, Dan steps back into his room and mutters a curt, “‘K,” and then Phil is face to face with the blankness of Dan’s bedroom door.  _ K? K?!  _ Phil sighs, and returns to his own room. All that effort for a ‘k,’ goddamnit. They don’t talk much after that; Dan stays in his room, and the only time Phil exits his room is for dinner (he’s slightly curious about what Dan had eaten for dinner, but then realizes that Dan had probably eaten earlier that day). Phil goes to sleep, nervous about the next day. He dreams of the fierce dragon, and of splashing waves, lapping along tanned sand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr @ bluejazzberrys  
> update: i think im gonna start posting sneak-peeks on Sundays on tumblr... lmk what u think!  
> tysm for reading!!
> 
> update 7.7: sorry for delay :( next chapter will be up by next Wednesday


	7. Chapter 7

“Alright class!” Professor Craft announces, “today we’ll be working on our first group project!” She starts to scribble something on the board. Dragging his eyes away from the scrawled words, Phil watches Dan doodle something on his notebook page. His eyes pop when he recognizes that it’s Haru from Free, but he immediately masks his reaction in case someone notices. Professor Craft’s voice filters loftily in his ears, “You are to work in groups of four, and these groups are your art tables.” 

Chris pumps his fist, “Yes!” as PJ and Phil turn to each other with sparkling eyes. 

“Now, before you get too excited,” Professor Craft warns, “I want these presentations to be about a food that you all share a common interest in, but you should present it in an artful perspective. Each of you can paint a picture of it, and I want to see your different interpretations on it. We are studying perception here.”

Phil frowns. The directions are confusing as usual. He glances back to Dan, who now seems to be shading in Haru’s hair. Dan hasn’t really said anything about last night, but it’s not like he expects him to. Although, Dan  _ did  _ offer him some of his oh-so-precious crunchy-nut this morning before heading out to his own first class. Of course, Phil had declined because Dan Howell would never share it unless the intended purpose was poisoning. Looking at Dan now, Phil notices he’s aloof and indifferent to the conversation bubbling around him. 

“Alright, mates!” Chris starts, “any food ideas?” he waggles his eyebrows.

PJ, smoothing a hand over his chin, hums, “Well, we all know Phil hates cheese, so not that.”

Phil smiles gratefully, “Yes, no cheese, please.”

Dan finally speaks, incredulous, “You  _ hate  _ cheese?” He looks up from his drawing, and their eyes meet for the first time that morning, “How can anyone hate cheese?” Phil’s jaw almost drops. Dan is  _ talking  _ to him? In a civilized way? He’s not mad at Phil for saying all those horrible things the other day?

“I… I dunno, I just don’t like it,” Phil murmurs, his mind still whirring into overdrive. He fails to mention that he’s lactose intolerant. 

“You’re canceled,” Dan declares, before training his eyes back on his drawing.

PJ shoots Dan a look, “Cancel culture is canceled. Besides, he's lactose intolerant.” Yet something in Dan’s voice tells Phil that it’s only teasing. The thought is so crazy that Phil almost feels dizzy with it. “How about Pizza?” PJ proposes after rolling his eyes to Dan’s lack of response, “You like that, Phil.”

“Ooh, yes! We should get some pizza right after this,” Chris instantly agrees. PJ and Phil share a grin, but Dan seems to pause.

“You like pizza?” He stares at Phil, his gaze almost too intense for Phil’s poor heart, which stutters uncomfortably in his chest.

“Yes, of course I do,” Phil says flippantly.

“You like pizza, but you don’t like cheese,” Dan states with a deadpan. 

“Yeah, problem?” Phil narrows his eyes, suddenly defensive.

“Not at all,” Dan blinks, his eyes growing wide. Phil’s brain fries. Everything about this is giving him whiplash. “It’s just,” Dan shrugs, “interesting.” 

_ Interesting?  _ Phil can feel PJ’s stupefied gaze burning into him, one he wants to share, but can't; he’s still staring, dumbfounded, at Dan. “Right,” Phil murmurs, “So, pizza. Pizza it is.”

“Yep,” Chris grins, and Phil notices it’s a tad too wide. 

“Sounds good,” Dan mumbles, resuming his drawing. Phil studies it reverently for a moment. Haru’s eyes are fanned by long lashes and the highlights in his smooth-looking hair are shiny.

“That’s a good Haru,” Phil blurts. His face promptly explodes into deep shades of red. He can feel PJ’s incredulous stare burning into his face. Goddamnit. 

Dan’s pencil-tip breaks. “You… watch…  _ Free _ ?!”

Phil shrugs, his hand rising up to scratch at the back of his slowly reddening neck, “Uh, maybe? Nevermind, I just thought it was…uh, just ignore me.” Phil suddenly has an urge to crawl beneath the table and melt into the floor. Luckily he doesn't have to do any of that because of Professor Craft (bless that teacher). 

“Alright, class! I hope you’ve brainstormed and came up with  _ some  _ ideas. Class is dismissed for today. If you have any questions, don’t be shy to let me know!” She winks, “I don’t bite.” The sound of low murmuring and shuffling feet fills the room. 

“Cya, Phil,” Dan does a little half-wave that’s probably more awkward than adorable. Phil can only focus on the adorable part, though. His limbs refuse to move as he stares at Dan’s retreating figure.  _ What the fuck. _

“Phil. Talk.  _ Now. _ ” PJ’s voice snakes into his ear as he drags him away by the elbow. Chris follows them, his body buzzing with curiosity as well. Phil swallows. 

“What the fuck was  _ that? _ ” PJ whisper-screams once they're out of the classroom. 

“Your guess is as good as mine, Peej,” Phil mumbles without looking at PJ, his mind still a jumbled haywire. 

Chris appears at his right, “You friends with him now, Phil?” 

Phil shrugs, “I already asked.” 

“ _ What?! _ ” PJ shrieks. A few heads turn. 

Phil glowers at him, “Not so loud, Peej. I just wanted to ask, and—” 

“So you’re friends, then?” PJ’s eyes are a soft green. Phil's heart melts. PJ is just caring for him. But Phil grimaces at the memory of their first meeting. He can hear Dan’s words of rejection echoing in his brain,  _ friends? You want to be friends?  _

Now that Phil thinks about it, it's not a complete rejection. The thought strikes him like a slap to the face. 

“Philly?” Chris prods, interrupting an oncoming epiphany. 

Phil blinks. “Wha-um. No, no. Definitely not friends.” What if Dan had just said that because of his own insecurity?

“Bloody ‘ell,” Chris mutters. 

“I know,” Phil tightens his coat around himself as he mulls over his newfound discovery. They're outside now, in the misty depths of autumn. PJ doesn't say anything. Leaves crunch beneath their feet and the sharp smell of winter prickles Phil’s reddened nose. 

“You  _ wanted _ to be friends with him?” PJ says after a pause. 

Phil frowns, “Why not? Better friends than…” Phil shrugs, “not-friends.” PJ hums noncommittedly, and Phil wonders if he still holds a grudge against Dan. “Dan isn't what you think he is,” Phil mumbles, watching his breath leave in puffy clouds. He sees PJ flip his head towards him in his peripheral vision. 

“Phil,” PJ warns. 

Phil knows PJ has his best interests in mind. He knows that. But he can't help but feel the itch of annoyance by PJ’s insistence. He can make his own decisions now; they're not children anymore. He knows what's right and what's wrong, and he knows Dan isn't an inherently immoral person. “PJ, just trust me.” Phil decides to say, hoping PJ will drop it. 

Alas, PJ is still the stubborn kid he grew up with. “I'm just… worried about you, Phil.” Chris looks between them silently, his brown eyes slightly fearful of what might unravel, like a child who’s afraid to witness their parents fighting. His hands are tucked into his pockets. 

Phil meets PJ’s eyes, “I know, Peej. But Dan isn’t like that. I  _ know _ it,” he looks back ahead, focusing on the brittle branches of the nearly leafless trees, reaching into plumes of fog. 

“How?” PJ presses. Phil bristles. “How do you know he isn't just playing the victim, Phil? What if he's just manipulating you?” The pause that follows is suffocating, and Phil can feel heat flaring, worming into his skin, twisting deep in his tightened chest. 

“How do I know?” Phil huffs, “Peej, I'm not a child! I can tell when someone’s acting!” 

“Can you tho-” 

“Yes!” Phil’s voice fills with exasperation, “he's not being fake! You didn't see his face, you didn't hear the  _ pain _ ,” Phil nearly spits out, his eyes blurring with unshed tears. It's because of the frosty air, not because of the memory of Dan’s tortured face. 

PJ’s lips press together. Worry swims within the green orbs. “What happened.” It's not a question. It's a demand. 

Phil sighs, defeated and worn out. He suddenly wants this conversation to end. “It's… a long story.” It's not really a long story, but- 

“Phil, I care about you, but I won't force you to tell me,” there's a soft touch at Phil’s shoulder, drawing his gaze up to PJ’s glimmering eyes. 

When he sees the green orbs shining with sincerity, Phil nods jerkily, “I can make my own decisions.” Sucking in a sharp breath, Phil realizes he’s saying it to himself more than to PJ, like some type of reassurance. 

“Of course you can, Phil,” PJ’s voice is flooded with so much warmth that Phil almost feels guilty for getting so worked up. Almost. “I still worry, though. I always will. I've known you since childhood; it's pretty much my job.” PJ grins lightheartedly, his forest eyes radiating with warmth. Phil feels his heart fill, a soft candle alighting in the cavity of his chest, despite the chilly conditions of the afternoon. Yet deep down, something’s still a little annoyed at PJ’s protectiveness. 

“Are you gonna head to your dorm now?” Chris asks as they turn in the direction of their own dorm, “ours is right ‘round the corner.” 

“Come with,” PJ says, “I'm sure you don't wanna go back to Howell, anyway—or do you?” 

Phil feels like he's under a test for an absurd moment. “No. No, of course not.” It's true; Dan is being unpredictable (even more than usual) and it would be too dangerous—both physically and mentally. So he follows them to their dorm, shivering as a blast of wind buffets over them. 

“Bloody cold,” Chris says around clenched teeth. Phil only has the capacity to nod as he grits his own teeth. Once they enter the flat, they start to debate on which games they should play. PJ heads to get their esteemed collection so that they can make their choice. 

After Peej is out of earshot, Chris leans over, “Hey Phil, mind giving me some advice?”

Phil quirks an eyebrow, “What kind of advice?” Although, he has an inkling he knows where this is going. 

“So, y’know your childhood friend, your bestest bud peej…” Chris trails, “he's kinda, like, fucking hot. I keep wondering... how did you not jump him when you were in — I dunno — high school or something?” 

A burst of laughter erupts from Phil’s chest, but he immediately muffles it with his hand when he sees Chris’s brown eyes flash with panic. “Damn, Chris,” Phil murmurs. 

“I'm serious, mate! He's fucking ho-”

“Okay, yeah, I get it, he's hot,” Phil chuckles, “what does that have to do with advice?” Phil shoots him waggly eyebrows.

Chris deadpans, “Really, do you want me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes…?” 

Chris pauses, seeming to formulate his words. Then he leans closer, “Do you think I have a chance?”

“With Peej?” Phil clarifies redundantly. Chris nods, emphatic. 

“Chris,” Phil snorts, “you've gotta be blind if you can't see it.”

Chris’s hazel eyes widen and fill with skeptic hope, “are you serious?!” 

“I've known Peej, for what, ten years? Twelve? Honestly, it's annoying, how much he talks about you.” 

Chris’s jaw drops, “H-he talks about…  _ me? _ ” 

“Yeah, he's always like — ‘oh, Chris is such a sweetheart,’ or — ‘Chris is angel reincarnate.’” Truthfully, it wasn't that extreme, but Peej would say subtle things that would give him away. Maybe something more like ‘why is Chris always late? He worries me sometimes,’ but Chris doesn't need to know that. Those are just details.

Chris deadpans, “no way. He's always complaining about me.” 

Phil shrugs, “he has a weird way of expressing it, I guess.” 

A few moments pass, and Chris’s face grows pensive. “Do you really think -”

“Found them!” PJ calls, a surplus of game cartridges clunking in his hands. 

Phil glances at Chris, who has a look of sheer panic in his face. “Oh, Peej! We were just talking about…”

Phil resists facepalming; can Chris be any more obvious? “Mariokart,” Phil supplies after Chris painfully flounders up an unintelligible jumble of words. 

PJ quirks an eyebrow, his green gaze jumping from Chris to Phil, and back to Chris, “Right…” he says, a mix of a smile and a frown flickering over his features. As PJ starts to load a game cartridge in their Nintendo switch, Phil can see what Chris is saying; Peej  _ does _ look quite handsome, but not as handsome as Da — wait, what? No, Dan is  _ not _ handsome. With his kind of personality, no one would be. Where did that even come from? 

PJ and Chris are staring at him. 

“Sorry, what?” Phil blinks owlishly. PJ shakes his head, smiling, and starts his game choice: Super Smash Bros. Ultimate. 

“Ready to smash?” PJ grins, fiddling with the blue controller.

“Hey, I want the blue one,” Chris whines.

Phil leans forward, “Are we playing tourney?”

“Yes, of course we are.”

Phil leans back on the sofa, rolling his eyes, “You always win those.”

The screen loads, and PJ chooses Toon Link, eliciting groans from the other two.

“Peej, you better keep those boomerangs away from me,” Phil mutters.

“For real,” Chris agrees.

PJ’s grin widens, “Alright, Chris, who do you wanna be?”

Chris chooses Pit, “My boy will knock your boomerangs away!”

PJ chuckles, “And you, Phil?”

“Uhh, Shulk?” 

PJ nods as he selects Shulk, “Damn you and your counters.”

A short burst of laughter erupts from Phil, “Yep, he  _ does _ have a cool counter.” 

PJ changes Shulk’s appearance to the shirtless version, displaying the washboard abs, “C’mon, Phil, we all know the  _ real _ reason you play Shulk, though,” and they all dissolve into laughter.

Phil spends the afternoon playing games with PJ and Chris, from super smash bros — PJ destroys them in that one — to mariokart, to overcooked, to splatoon 2. The time flies by unfairly quick, and Phil already has to leave. 

“Bye Peej, bye Chris,” Phil calls as he slips into his shoes and shoulders on his coat. 

“You should stay for dinner, mate! We’re getting pizza,” Chris calls back. 

“No, no, I've already eaten all your food for lunch.” Phil doesn't want to impose, but he’s also burning with curiosity about Dan’s sudden change. Why is Dan acting strangely nice? Will he still be hostile when Phil gets home? Or will he surprise Phil again and be oddly friendly? Phil unconsciously hopes it's the latter. 

PJ opens the door for him, “You sure, Phil? I know you wanna talk to Dan. You should, but… ” 

Phil feels like he's been hit by a frying pan. “I—no, that's… I’m not  _ dying _ to talk to him, or anything.” Except he is, and PJ can see right through him. He should've seen this coming, with PJ knowing him since childhood and all. Oops. 

PJ smiles, “You should, Phil. I've thought about it.” 

Phil’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, “You have?!” 

“Yeah. I trust you, Phil. I think you might be onto something.” 

Chris slides in and whispers, “Orrr Dan is just a crazy man, waiting for your arrival with a knife.” 

“A butter knife,” PJ adds with a smile. 

A burst of laughter rumbles from Phil, “I wouldn't be surprised if he was.” PJ gives him a look that screams,  _ are you for real? _ “Joking, of course,” Phil trills, grinning a bit too widely. He can never be too sure with Dan.

When he arrives home, he can't see Dan anywhere, but judging by the light filtering beneath the crack of his bedroom door, he's probably still awake. Unlike Dan, though, Phil doesn't want to bail on sleep today; after his nightly duties, he hops right into bed. His dreams encompass vague visions of a dragon again, its skin shimmering blue-green and its roar piercing and echoing in Phil’s eardrums. 

***

[Phil|15:26] _ hey I'm done w my slide  _

[Phil|15:26] _ can u help me practice?  _

Knee bouncing, Phil exhales slowly through his nose. Their presentation is in a few days, and all he’s done is put his electric drawing of a pizza on his slide. That should be enough, right? His phone chimes.

[Peej|15:30]  _ so sorry Phil, Chris and I are out all day today :( _

[Peej|15:31]  _ I’m sure you’ll be fine, though. Just pretend they’re all sacks of rice :] _

Phil chews on his lip. That’s never worked; he’s terrible at presenting. He doesn’t even realize he’s pacing until he stumps his foot on his side table. Hard. “Fuck!” Phil hisses, his face twisting in pain. He groans and starts hopping on one foot as his hands cradle his throbbing toe. The bedroom door bangs open, and Phil nearly topples over.

“What the  _ fuck _ is going on in here?!” Dan bursts into his room.

Phil’s hang flings out to his almirah as he tries to catch his balance. He bites his lip to try to distract the pounding pain in his foot. “Dan! You can’t just barge in without knocking!”

“Why not?” He frowns. Phil doesn’t miss the way the corner of his lip twitches. 

“B-because! Because uhh… Because!” Phil huffs. He feels his face burning an infuriating red, but the thrumming pain in his foot is still going strong, to his annoyance. “Because, I might be doing… things.” Phil wants to facepalm.  _ Great, totally subtle, Phil. Nailed it.  _ Why is Dan even asking? Oh yeah, because he’s an evil shit.

Dan tilts his head to the side, “What kind of things?”

Phil glares. Now Dan’s just playing with him. He most certainly is, because his lips are quirked in a way that says he knows  _ exactly  _ what kind of things Phil is talking about. Phil drags his gaze away from his mouth, wondering if he was staring at his lips for too long to be considered appropriate for… for what? Are they even friends? “Important things,” Phil finally mutters, before turning away to sit in his chair. Dan raises his eyebrows. “Privacy is important, Dan,” he adds for a good measure.

Dan snorts, and then murmurs something inaudible, and Phil swears he just uttered a, “perv,” under his breath.

“ _ You’re _ the perv,” Phil shoots back indignantly, “you asked.”

“It was an innocent question!” Dan’s eyes widen with faux innocence.

“Yeah,  _ innocent _ .” 

Dan chuckles, and Phil is thrown of by the way his chest surges. It’s probably the first time he’s heard that sound from Dan’s mouth. No, he’s not thinking about how…  _ pure _ it sounded.

“Can we stop talking about this now?” Phil deadpans, hoping his voice isn’t as whiny as it sounds.

Dan glances around the room, drinking in the mess, “Your room’s shit, mate.” Phil rolls his eyes. He doesn’t need Dan Howell criticizing his cleanliness. “How many pairs of socks do you even  _ own _ ?” Ignoring him, Phil decides to turn his attention back to the computer, which has his slice of pizza displayed on it. He sits down on his desk chair and absently rubs his still-pounding foot. 

“Do you have a foot fetish or something?” Dan comments after a moment.

Phil’s face flashes red. In the back of his mind, he’s wondering why the hell Dan is still here. “No! Why would you think that?” 

“Oh, I dunno, maybe ‘cuz your rubbing your foot and damn nearly moaning?”

Phil’s blush deepens, “You  _ are _ a perv, aren’t you?” He huffs, “I stubbed my bloody foot in my table.”

Dan’s eyes widen, “Oh, so  _ that’s  _ what all that noise was.”

“Yes!” Phil gasps, exasperated. “What did you  _ think _ it wa—“ Dan’s eyebrow raises, and Phil’s stomach flips. Oh.  _ Oh. _ He clears his throat and there’s a beat of silence. “Nevermind, don’t answer that,” Phil mutters as he whips his eyes back to his computer screen. He errantly wonders why Dan would barge in if he heard noises like that. Surely, he's not telling the truth? He feels the heat spread to his ears, tinting it pink. “You wouldn’t  _ really  _ be able to hear it if I was doing that anyway,” Phil murmurs, surprising them both. Immediately, he clings to the hope that Dan didn’t hear that. He said it softly, so maybe Dan didn’t catch it. But he feels the red inch down his neck when Dan makes a choked sound. Phil’s mouth curves without his consent and his stomach swoops and fizzles in his chest. 

“Is this what you’re stressing about?” Dan mumbles, jerking his head towards Phil’s laptop screen. Phil dares to look behind him, so that he can get a good look of Dan. Something haughty curls in his chest when he sees the cherry-red cheeks and the shifty eyes. And Phil doesn’t overlook the obvious topic change. He’s almost tempted to call Dan out on it, but realizes it might get too weird. Hell, it’s already weird.

His chair squeaks as he shifts back towards his computer. He closes his eyes and sighs lengthily, wondering if Dan will tease him about what he’s about to reveal. “Yeah…” Phil admits reluctantly, “I suck at presenting.” Before Phil can delve into the knee-shaking, hand-quivering memories, he asks, “What ‘bout you?”

Dan’s hazel eyes grow thoughtful, “I used to be afraid, like in fourth or fifth grade. But I grew to love it.” His fingers drum on the back of Phil’s chair. Phil frowns. He wishes the same had happened to him.  

“Jealous?” Dan grins, cheeky, shooting him waggly eyebrows. Phil doesn’t respond. “It’s okay, Lester. You’ll be fine,” Dan declares. Phil almost jumps out of his skin when he feels two hands slam down on his shoulders. Dan only squeezes his shoulders for two seconds, but to Phil, it seems so much longer. And maybe he’s starved from physical contact because since when did stuff like that feel so  _ delicious? _ Dan’s hands are so  _ warm _ … not to mention, unusually big _. _ After a moment, those magical hands leave his shoulders, and Phil releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Absurdly, he feels a hot flush flutter through him. 

“That’s the problem, though — I  _ won’t  _ be fine,” Phil fiddles with his mouse.

“Ugh, don’t you have any friends you can ask for help? Like that green-eyed twat?” Dan grunts down at Phil’s screen.

Phil glares at him, “ _ Peej _ , you mean?” He sighs, “Yeah, but he’s out with Chris all day today…”

“Oh.”

Phil looks down at his hands, which are twisting together in his lap, “Yeah.”

After a pause, Dan finally huffs, “Fine!”

Phil flicks his eyes back up to the determined mahogany eyes, “Fine?”

“God, why am I stuck with you,” Dan mutters under his breath, before returning to his regular drawl, “Fine, I’ll help your fucking bitch-ass.”

Despite Dan’s profanity, Phil’s cerulean orbs sparkle with hope, “You will?”

Dan shrugs, “Why not?”

Phil frowns, “Umm, ‘cuz you hate me?” Phil’s eyes widen when he sees the flicker of hurt pass through Dan’s chocolate eyes. His heart stirs.

There’s a heartbeat of silence before Dan murmurs, “I… I don’t  _ hate _ you, Phil.”

“You don’t,” Phil tests the statement, his voice full of doubt.

“No, I just find you annoying… sometimes.” Dan can’t seem to look at Phil. His eyes are trained to the carpeted floor. 

Phil pauses, multiple thoughts racing through his head. “Well,” he huffs, “feeling’s mutual, mate.”

A ghost of a smile passes over Dan’s face. For some reason, Phil’s heart squeezes when he sees it. It tells him there’s a chance. Chance for what? “So why are you so adamant against being my friend? Friends can be annoying too.” Phil’s breath hitches once his question is out. Why does his mouth always work on autopilot around Dan? Now he just sounds desperate.

Dan releases a bark of laughter. “Oh,” he says, and Phil’s intrigue only increases when pink creeps up on Dan’s face, “That’s ‘cuz, uh, I—you…” He worries his lip, “you don’t just stick your damned hand out and declare it! That's not how to make friends, dumbass.” 

“Oh, like you would know?” Phil drawls, fully swiveling in his chair around and raising an eyebrow. His breath hitches; he thinks he might've pushed too far, but when the corner of Dan’s lip quirks in a hint of a smile, he can see rays of sunlight peaking between tufts of fluffy clouds. Maybe there  _ is _ a chance. 

Dan rolls his eyes, “Shut up, Lester. You gonna present your damned slide now or what?” Dan flops over Phil’s bed.

“Yes, as soon as you get off my  _ bed _ ,” Phil says as he collects his index cards and shuffles to his feet. 

“Well  _ I’m  _ the one helping you, so I deserve a damned chair.” Phil opens his mouth to refute, but then decides to close it because it’s a fair point. “What’re you holding index cards for? It’s literally pizza!”

“Look, my brain always blanks when I’m in front of an audience, okay?” Phil’s fingers turn white when he squeezes the cards in his hands.

“Fine, go off,” Dan leans his head on one of his hands as he sits criss-cross on the checkered duvet.

“Okay,” Phil takes a deep, shaky breath. He trains his eyes down to the scrawled graphite on his card. His hands start to feel clammy. “Goddamnit,” he mutters.

“Just go,” Dan mumbles, annoyingly lax, “It’s just me.”

“Just you? I don’t even know you!” Phil fiddles with the slightly curled edges of his cards. He can feel his pulse in his neck.

“Doesn't that make it easier?”

Phil nods jerkily, barely processing the question. “Right, ‘kay, um, so, um,” he looks at the screen and sees his slice of hand-drawn pizza. “Well, pizza is, um, important, um, important to me, because, uh, well first, I, um, hate, uh, hate cheese, and um—” 

“Phil.”

Phil stops, relieved. The fog shrouding his brain clears. His cerulean orbs are pleading for something when they meet Dan’s almond eyes.

“Start over.”

Phil heaves a frustrated sigh. “I  _ can’t _ .” His cards crumple even more. “I can’t do this!” 

“Yes you can, Phil,” Dan says it with so much confidence that Phil finds himself dumbfounded with it. He reads over his cards once more. The words echo in his brain,  _ yes you can. _

“Right, so pizza—oh god, this topic is  _ so stupid _ .” Phil looks heavenward.

Dan smiles, “It is, but we gotta do it.” His hands clasp his knees, “C’mon, it’s not too terrible. What’s special about your view of pizza?”

“My pizza?”

“Why is it your favorite food?”

“Because!”

“Because…”

“Yes, because!”

“Phil,” Dan deadpans as he smoothes a hand over his forehead, “you can’t just say ‘because’ for everything.”

“But I hate cheese!” Phil almost wants to stomp his foot. Someone in the back of his mind is chastising him for whining. Hot tears spring into his eyes, but he blinks them away. 

“Okay, Phil,” Dan sighs, hands meeting together, “I’m going to present my slide.”

“Okay.”

He points at Phil, “And then you’re going to present yours.”

“Okay.”

“And then we’ll talk, okay?”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wack upload schedule  
> also sorry for being such a nerd w supersmash bros man i need some friends to play that game with ;-;  
> ok i can try to upload the next chap sooner than wed since i missed the last two wednesdays... oop  
> tysm for reading!  
> tumblr @bluejazzberrys


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> b-but pHiL iS hUMaN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry guys im just a marvel nerd sometimes,, it kinda just slipped in

“Phil, stop. We practiced enough yesterday,” Dan turns in his bed, his feet tangling in the warmth of his sheets. He clutches his phone loosely in a groggy hand.

Phil’s static-voice flows into his ears, “I know, I know. I’m just worried because—“

“Well stop worrying, bitch. You gon’ be fine,” Dan mumbles into his phone, his mind still fuzzy with dregs of sleep.

“I… did I wake you?” Phil’s voice becomes incredulous, and it sounds like he’s on the cusp of a laugh.

Dan’s eyebrows furrow and he scrunches eyes shut. His toes curl. “Yes! You disturbed my damn beauty sleep, bastard. I’m hanging up now.” Dan swears he hears Phil mutter something about how he doesn’t need beauty sleep. Heart flipping, Dan tries to keep the eagerness out of his voice, “What was that?” Dan’s sure he's just hearing things in his sleepy delirium. His doubts are confirmed a moment later. 

“Nothing—erm, I was just saying how I needed some beauty sleep too, but here I am,” Phil murmurs.

There’s a beat of silence, in which Dan starts to delve back into the murky depths of dreamland, but then some rustling in the background jolts him from the vague depths. “And where the fuck is ‘here’?”

“Uh, not on campus. I’m outside. I was just buying something for my bro—”

“Hmm, no wonder it’s so quiet,” Dan muses as he turns to the other side, voice breathy.

Phil gasps, “Hey!” Was that a voice crack? “You’re the loud one, shut up.”

“Right, I’m hanging up now,” Dan sighs, “I was asleep, goddamnit.”

“Do you ever stop whining?”

“No. Now let me sleep, asshole,” Dan mumbles into his pillow. 

“Sleep tight, you…” Phil hesitates, as if mulling over something to call him, “... you horrible boy.”

Dan snorts, “Ouch. Language.”

“Shut it, Howell. I’m going now.” Dan can practically hear the blush in Phil’s voice.

“Bye bye, horrible boy,” Dan drawls.

“I hate you,” is the last words Dan hears before Phil hangs up. Dan sleeps with a ghost of a smile lingering on his face. 

A few hours later, he wakes up to go to his first class, literature. He eats breakfast consisting of mostly chocolate and heads out. On his way to class, he gets a text. 

[Phil|13:14]  _ help.  _

Dan glances bemusedly at the message, his fingers starting to feel numb from the cold. Leaves crinkle beneath his feet for a few more moments before he's finally in the warm building. 

[Dan|13:14] _ wat _

[Phil|13:16]  _ So I'm going birthday shopping for my brother and idk which shirt to buy  _

Phil has a brother? Older or younger? Wait, why should he even care? Dan is about to text him something back — something like  _ im in class, bitch.  _ But then Phil sends him another message, and Dan almost drops his phone. He's relieved when he doesn't drop it, of course, because more zombie-looking students are starting to filter in, and this is a big class, and his phone would've made a horrible clattering sound if it had fallen to the floor, undoubtedly drawing too many eyes to him. He doesn't want that right now. Being an incubus is hard enough. Currently, Dan is sitting at the top row, behind Anthony, so it would be quite noticeable. 

But the reason he was about to drop his phone is because Phil just sent him a damned picture. 

[Phil|13:20]  _ Is this cute? *image* _

It's unfair how attractive Phil looks, with his gorgeous blue eyes and his jet black quiff. He's clutching a long-sleeved, red-yellow-orange plad over his body, obscuring his animated blue t-shirt. Not to mention, his bright-eyed expression is almost a dorky kind of adorable that wrings around Dan’s heart. Dan’s hands are on autopilot when they type out  _ you or the shirt, _ but he immediately jolts himself out of his trance.  _ What the hell is wrong with you?  _ It's almost like Phil’s the damned incubus here. Why isn't Dan naturally gifted in the art of… what is this, seduction? Bloody hell. Luckily, he has enough of his bearings to type out a reasonable response. 

[Dan|13:24]  _ phil plad really?? _

His phone buzzes immediately. 

[Phil|13:24]  _ What? Plad is good, I used to wear it all the time :(  _

[Dan|13:25]  _ yeah, and i bet there’s a reason why u stopped  _

Phil sends him a series of angry emojis, but before Dan can respond, Anthony’s voice is breaking him out of his reverie. 

“Who are you texting…?”

Dan drags his eyes away from his phone and blinks away the image of Phil, “Huhm?” He meets Anthony’s eyes, which are glinting at him. Dan gulps. “Oh, uh.” 

Anthony’s grin morphs into a smirk, “Spill.”

“No one, really,” Dan shrugs, and then internally winces at how it sounds. 

“No one,” Anthony scoffs, “You sure ‘bout that, lover-boy?”

Dan feels thrown off. Did he really look that… smitten? “It was just...” He frowns, petulant, “I didn't have a lover-boy expression.” 

“You sure ‘bout that?” Anthony’s brown eyes are so piercing that Dan is forced to look away. Did he? What is wrong with him? He can't catch feelings for Phil. Phil is human. He's not falling for Phil anyway though. Anthony is just insane. And a presumptuous twat, apparently.

“I couldn't have been…” Dan starts, “because I was just texting…  Cat.” The lie slips out easier than he wants, and he wants to take it back immediately when he sees the reaction it evokes. 

Anthony’s eyes widen, and a flash of fury gleams through the dark brown irises before reverting back to placidness. They were filled with so much pure  _ hatred _ that a shudder passes through Dan’s spine. “Ah, Cat,” Anthony mutters, “fuckin’ whore.”

Dan’s hand curls into a fist reflexively, but for some reason his defensive words, burning like coal, are stuck in his throat. He thought Cat and Anthony were… well, what are they? Friends? Friends with benefits? Complicated? Probably one of the latter. But why would Anthony be so upset? And if Anthony  _ is  _ so upset, did he really look that enamoured? Goddamnit. “No, no, I was just asking her about my…” Dan swallows, “Uh…” Anthony's eyes narrow. Knee bouncing, Dan bites his lip.

When a new voice interrupts them, Dan almost melts to the floor in relief. “Anthony! ‘Sup, my dude! Haven't seen you in so long!” Ian grins as he claps Anthony over the back. Anthony rolls his eyes, his face shadowed by a dark scowl, before he beams up brightly at Ian. 

“Ian! How ya doing, man?” Anthony’s smile might not seem fake to Ian, but Dan sees right through it. Dan, narrowing his eyes as the conversation unfolds, makes a mental reminder to talk to Cat about it. Maybe it's not his business, but he still wants to make sure his Lilith is okay. She's kind of his mentor, after all; he’d be lost in this cursed body without her knowledge.

***

The last day. Presentation day. And Phil is a mess. Dan walks besides him on the way to class this time. Phil shoves his hands inside his pockets so that he doesn’t see them shaking. 

“Phil,” Dan grunts behind his black muffler. Phil hums in response. “You’re ready, trust me.”

Phil glances at Dan, and were his eyes always so… chocolate? “Uh, right,” Phil sighs, “sure.”

“Trust me,” Dan repeats, “you have nothing to be worried about. No one in class will pay attention, anyway.”

“Hm, I guess.” Phil agrees distractedly.

~

It’s already their turn. Phil wipes his hands, suddenly sweaty, on his jeans as he stands on quivering legs. PJ’s eyes are pale green when they connect with his own. He shoots Phil a reassuring smile. 

“Phil.” Phil’s head jerks to Dan’s voice. Dan’s eyes are dark brown, nearly onyx in the pale light of the wide-screen projector. “Breathe.”

Phil nods, “Right,” he exhales. Inhale. Exhale. Then they’re up, and Phil’s brain is whiting out. Dan is speaking, and his eyes hold some familiarity to them as he glances at Phil. Phil can’t really hear what Dan’s saying, but the knot of anxiety tightly coiled in his chest loosens just a bit. Then he’s saying the practiced words. They pass through his mouth in a frenzied blur, and by the end he doesn’t remember a single word of what he’s said.

Dan’s right, of course. The presentations fly by in a rollercoaster of emotions, and Phil almost feels dizzy by the end of it. But he really did have nothing to worry about.

“You were amazing,” Dan whispers to him as they return to their table. It puts an small smile on Phil’s face. 

Phil represses a scoff, “Was I?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You were pretty good too, I guess,” Phil musters, hating his level of conviction.

Dan snorts, “Thanks, mate.”

A few more presentations pass, and Phil is nearly asleep. He feels a soft pressure on his foot a few moments later, which has him dragging his nearly-closed lids open, out of the haze of sleep. He raises his eyebrows when he meets Dan’s eyes.

“What are you doing after this?” Dan murmurs. For some reason, Phil’s heart jolts, but he ignores it. He decides to shrug. Dan nods.

“Why?” Phil can’t stop the word from fluttering out of his mouth. Dan returns the shrug. Fair enough. 

Class continues, dragging on like the nagging voice in Phil’s head that refuses to leave. Why did he ask that? it says; what is Dan planning? Phil pushes it away and starts drawing geometric designs on his notebook. His mind is running with errant thoughts; he doesn’t even realize he’s drawn Dan on his page. Cheeks burning, he hastily fumbles to the next page of his notebook before Dan can see. Why does he feel like this anyway? It’s not like it’s a crime to draw your friend. They  _ are _ friends, right? Are they? At that moment, though, the lights are flickering on, and Phil is temporarily blinded. Based on the resounding groans of the class, it seems they share in his misery. 

“May we have a final applause for all of the presenters today, please?” Professor Craft says, drawing a feeble applause. “Well,” she murmurs as the clapping dwindles down, “I must say, I’m very proud of all your work.” She raises her eyebrows before walking back to her large desk and flicking over to a thick booklet — perhaps a planner. “And as for the plan…” her eyes scan the calendar on her desk, before she looks back up at the class, “Please read the next chapter in the textbook; you’ll never know when I decide to hit you with a pop-quiz!” She looks up from her planner and winks, “hint-hint wink-wink.” The class groans again at this, “Oh, stop your whining,” she rolls her eyes and scrutinizes her planner for a few more moments. Flapping a hand, she finally dismisses them, “Alright, get outta my class.” Phil rises from his desk as the sound of ruffling papers and heavy sighs fill the room. 

He bids PJ and Chris farewell once he’s out the door. The cold air chills his bones when he steps outside, but people are still bustling about. 

“Hey, Phil! Wait up!” 

Phil freezes. He glances behind, and sure enough, Dan is jogging up to him. His brown eyes appear hazel in the pale light of Autumn. 

“Oh, h-” Phil clears his throat and swallows, “hi,” he murmurs when Dan reaches him. Brows knitting together, Phil waits for Dan to catch his breath. 

“Sorry,” Dan breathes, “m’just so unfit.” 

Phil smiles, “honestly, same.” Dan shoots him a deadpan and Phil feels something squirm inside his stomach. “So…”

“You're going back to the dorm, yeah?” 

“Mhm.”

“I'll join you.”

So they walk.

“I didn't even realize you were wearing muse merch until the lights turned on,” Dan reveals.

“You like Muse?” Phil’s eyes widen. 

“Yes! They’re my favorite.” Phil doesn't miss the extra bounce to Dan’s step. He smiles. “So, what's your favorite album?” Dan’s chocolate orbs meet Phil’s. They're filled to the brim with curiosity. Phil’s heart jumps slightly at the look. 

He takes a deep breath, pretending to mull over his answer even though he already knows it, “Origin of Symmetry,” he mumbles, looking back down the street so that he doesn't get sucked into those eyes. 

He can practically feel Dan buzzing with excitement. “Oh my god, mine too!” Phil’s cerulean eyes flicker with amusement. Who would've thought they had similar taste in music? 

They find themselves talking, ranging from fandom to fandom of interest. Phil is almost surprised to find how easy the conversation ebbs and flows between them. And they share so many of the same interests. However, soon, in the middle of a Lord of the Rings rant, they are abruptly stopped. 

There's a lady on the streets. Her face is sunken and wrinkled, but her beady eyes are piercing and alight with life. She’s holding a bushel of roses in her thin-fingered grasp. It seems like they're up for sale, but then she’s calling out with a wispy, shriveled voice. 

"You there, with the bright blue eyes and raven hair." 

Phil pauses. Dan glances at him, an eyebrow raised. Surely, there has to be someone else with those features? 

He's answered a moment later, when a thin, petite man with those same features steps up, "Erm, hello. Are you lost, ma’am?” His irish accent is thick and warm like a weighted blanket.

The lady looks down at her flowers, and then back up to the man, "No, no, nothing like that. Now tell me, young man, what is your name?" 

"Let's go," Dan whispers as he tugs on Phil's elbow. 

"Wait," Phil breathes, not taking his eyes off the strange woman. 

Dan looks at the lady, and then back to Phil. He snorts, "didn't know you were into older women, Phil." 

Phil rolls his eyes, but there's a ghost of a grin flickering on his face, “or women at all,” he adds. He had said it so softly that he’s surprised Dan picks up on it. 

Dan chuckles, his dimples on display, “Or women at all,” he nods. Phil is stunned into silence; where was the person who had called him a ‘fag’ not so long ago? Not that he’s complaining. 

The woman is shaking her head now. "No, no. There has been a confusion. You said your name was Jack. I'm sorry, there must he another — "

"Wait!" Jack pleads, "That's not my real name." 

The woman frowns, "No?"

"No. My real name's Seán." 

The lady clutches onto the roses, "Ah. Well, sorry, darling. This man's name is Philip-” Phil freezes- “spelled with one L, too. A bit odd, I’d say, wouldn’t you?"

Jack's shoulders slump. The woman reaches out to pat his back, "It's okay, dear. You'll find true love one day." 

Phil rips his gaze away from the crimson flowers, and he's not surprised to find Dan giving him waggly eyebrows. He rolls his eyes again. 

“Go,” Dan shoots a glance at the old lady. Although, it seems Dan doesn't need to encourage Phil because the lady has already noticed them. 

“You there!” The lady calls, narrowing her eyes, “now  _ you _ match  _ all _ the descriptions.” 

Phil shuffles forward. It feels like he’s in elementary school again and has been called to the office for committing a terrible, suspension-worthy crime. Although, when he feels Dan’s body heat behind him, it grounds him a little. Dan’s breath is hot over his ear when he muses, “he sure does match them perfectly, missus.”

Ignoring the butterflies that erupt in his stomach, Phil shoots Dan a glare as he finally falls in step besides him. Their close enough so their shoulders brush. The lady only flicks her gaze back and forth between them. It initially lands on Dan, “And you are?” She asks, sugary sweet.

Phil snorts as Dan’s face turns a light shade of pink, “Oh, uh, sorry, you want my name?” She nods. “Oh, it's- Dan.” 

“Dan,” she repeats.

“Um, Daniel,” he rushes to correct. 

“Oh,” she scrutinizes her roses, “a Howell, I see.” 

Dan and Phil share a mildly horrified look. (For a moment, Dan wonders if this woman can possibly know about his father, but he shoots the though down because that would be absurd, right?)

“Well, anyway, you're Philip, correct?” 

“Correct,” Phil stands up a little straighter, his posture rigid.

“Oh, good,” Her hand dives into the roses and she retrieves a small vial, rose-red in color, “then my job here is done,” she huffs as she presses it into Phil’s lax hand. 

Before Phil can speak, she's bumbling away with strangely fast speed, mixing in with the crowd. Dan has confusion written all over his features. 

“Well, that was…” 

“Yeah,” Phil agrees. He looks down at the vial. It's small, pocket-sized, and sparkles reddish-pink depending on the lighting. “What even is this?” 

“That looks like a love potion, if you ask me,” Dan raises his eyebrows. 

Phil meets his eyes, frowning, “You think those things exist? It would make sense in, like, a world filled with witchcraft and wizardry,” Phil spins the vial’s smooth surface in his hand, trying to look for any labels. Dan goes strangely silent. 

After a pause, Dan murmurs, “Well, she  _ did _ look like a witch.” 

Phil hums as he pockets the mystery liquid, “Did she?” They continue their trek to their flat.

Dan falls into step and shrugs, “she looked like one to me.” He looks at Phil, and his ocher eyes hold an intensity that has Phil’s stomach shifting, “I wouldn't drink it if I were you.” 

Phil snorts, “Yeah Dan. ‘Cuz I’d trust a shady old lady on the street enough to drink her mystery elixir.”

Dan’s hands raise in surrender, “I’m just saying! You seem like a ‘curiosity killed the cat’ kinda person.” 

“I’m not!” Phil cries, faux-offended.

“If you say so, Lester,” Dan sing-songs. 

“Ugh, you're the worst,” Phil huffs. 

Dan chuckles, “The worst? Well, don't say I didn't warn you when you start molesting the first person you see.”

“I won't drink it, so that’ll never happen.”

“Suuure. We’ll see.”

***

Phil’s quirky charm and Dan’s sarcastic wit complement each other like puzzle pieces. Their friendship flows like the sweet water of a summer creek, and they easily become attached at the hip in no time. People don't mention one name without the other: 

_ “Have you seen Phil?”  _

_ “No, but I saw Dan walk that way a few minutes ago.”  _

Halloween comes around in a flash. The air is nippy and auburn leaves crunch beneath their feet. Phil smells winter in the air. 

“You can't  _ smell _ winter, Phil,” Dan grins after Phil shares the thought with him.

“Winter has a scent,” Phil argues, glancing at Dan. His pale hands dive into toastie pockets. 

Dan’s brown eyes sparkle with amusement, “Go on then,” he challenges, unconsciously nudging into Phil’s shoulder, “what's it smell like?”

Phil snorts, “You can't  _ describe  _ the scent of winter with words, Dan. You just  _ know _ .” Phil pauses, teal eyes growing thoughtful. He sighs and his breath puffs out in a white, misty cloud, “But, fine, if you insist. I guess I'd describe it as… crisp.” He pauses. “Like, the air is thin. And white.”

“Phil,” a dimple appears on Dan’s face, “you can't describe a scent with a color.” 

“But that's what it is!” Phil's cries indignantly as he watches a gaggle of girls shuffle around the campus fountain, clutching steaming paper cups in mittened hands. 

Phil catches Dan’s eye, and then giggles when he notices a maroon leaf stuck in his curls. Dan’s nose is red from the chill of the October evening. 

“Wot?” Dan frowns, which only makes Phil laugh harder. 

“You’ve got a leaf,” Phil says, gesturing to his own hair. They slow to a stop. 

Dan’s eyes widen and his hands fly to his mess of curls. The brittle leaf breaks as Dan accidentally crushes it in his hand, and now his hair is speckled with the red remains. “Damnit,” Dan mutters. 

Phil bursts into uncontrollable sniggering, and Dan’s face blooms red. “It’s okay,” Phil says between wheezes, “Now you’ve got the proper Halloween costume.”

“Fuck your ‘proper Halloween costume,’” Dan mutters under his breath as his hands fumble around his curls, trying to pluck the damned leafy specs out.

“Dan, we have the same Halloween costume,” Phil deadpans. 

“Yeah, thanks, I hate it,” Dan huffs, glaring holes into the cat-whiskers on Phil’s face, “I thought you weren't last-minute like me.” 

The memory flashes into Dan’s mind:  _ Dan’s mouth flaps open as he stares at the matching cat-whiskers on Phil’s face. It suits him, oddly. The ink of the sharpie contrasts magnificently with Phil’s pale skin. Dan tries not to dwell on those thoughts too much.  _

_ Phil bursts into giggles, “We match!”  _

_ “Fucking hell _ — _ we do,” Dan sneers, but his dimples give his true emotions away.  _

Phil's voice brings him back to the present, “Well. You thought wrong. I procrastinate too, believe it or not. You’ve got a lot to learn, Danny-boy.” Phil grins.

“Don't you fuckin’—fucks’ sake.” It's hopeless; he's only crushing the small bits of leaf into smaller, finer pieces. 

“It's not that bad,” Phil sends him a cheeky smirk, sapphire orbs twinkling, “It just looks like you’ve sprinkled some nice chili spice in your hair. Hey, at least it'll match the autumn theme!” his eyes widen with faux excitement.

“ _ Phil.” _

“Fine. Let me do it; you’re just making it worse.” 

“You better not ruin it further, mate,” Dan shuffles on his feet.

“Don't ‘mate’ me.” Phil starts to brush his hands through tufts of brown hair.

“Mate,” Dan repeats, dimples curving on his face, “mate mate mate.” 

“God, you’re annoying.” 

“Says  _ you _ .” 

They fall silent as Phil gets to work. His deft fingers tug softly on soft brown strands. Cerulean eyes narrow with concentration.

He doesn't notice when Dan’s breath stops puffing out, or when Dan’s face becomes slightly more flushed (and not from the cold), or when Dan sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, or when his dark lashes flutter as he closes his hazel eyes. 

Swallowing down a soft sound of contentment, Dan errantly wonders if cambions can physically purr. “D’you have magic hands or som’thing?” Dan breathes, drunk on the sensation of Phil’s soft touches. He doesn't even register what he's said, but the words have already slipped out of his stupid mouth. 

He blinks hard. Warmth floods his face a moment too late. Phil continues working on his hair, though a small smirk graces his face. Flicking his gaze to the side, Phil shrugs, “perhaps.” 

Dan frowns, but before he can analyze the strange sincerity of Phil’s statement, his breath whooshes out of his lungs because Phil tugs on a strand a little too hard. But instead of pain, he feels a burst of flames erupt in his stomach, “Fuck,” Dan’s breath hitches, goose-flesh erupting up his arms. Was he always so sensitive? Damn incubus.

“Sorry,” Phil’s crystal eyes are wide, “too hard?” 

Dan bats away his worries and steadies his breathing, “No, no, 's fine. You done?” 

“Yeah, that was the last of it,” Phil smiles, casting his gaze to the ground, “Poor leaf. It’s just like when they disintegrated in Infinity Wars.”

Dan snorts, and they continue their trek towards PJ’s flat, “Would that make me Thanos?” 

Phil’s eyebrow quirks, a playful glimmer swimming in his eyes, “No. You’re worse than Thanos.” 

“Why, ‘cuz I killed a leaf - a plant - and not a human?”

Phil grins, “Exactly.”

“You kill house plants all the time, though,” Dan runs a hand over his curls distractedly, relishing its appearance when it comes back without a trace of crumbled leaf, “And besides,” Dan adds, “Technically, that leaf was already dead.”

Phil hums, “Yeah… I’d probably be the bigger villain in this case. But I'd like to be Thor.” 

Dan snorts, rather loudly. And tellingly. 

“I could be Thor!” Phil cries, puffing up his chest. He then proceeds to speak in a horrid imitation of an Australian accent. 

“That's—that’s downright offensive, Phil. You need to apologize.” 

“Sorry,” The insincerity is heavy in his amused voice. 

“That was a terrible excuse for an apology,” Dan wacks his arm lightly, “Try again.”

Phil rolls his eyes, but can’t stop smiling, “always the critic, you ass,” before his expression turns somber, “I'm sorry, Thor, son of Odin, for insulting the Asgardians. I didn't mean any disrespect.” 

“Better.” A smile twitches on Dan’s lips, “even though you copied spider-man.”

“Hey, learned from the best.”

In moments like these, tender heat seeps into the spaces between Dan’s ribcage and swells there. Like a soft candle flickering inside his chest, warming up the entire cavity. 

He doesn't enjoy it for long — he refuses to. His mind works into overdrive. It's not the same crackle-pop of an incubus’s hunger. It's sweet, soft, affectionate. He forces the thoughts, the feelings, down, turbulent emotions spiraling in his chest. His heart thuds in the hollow space. Any flutter of warmth has been wrung out of his soul like the throttle of a wet blanket. 

_ You’re not attracted to Phil. It's the bloody incubus,  _ an ice-cold voice in his mind reprimands. Somewhere in his deep subconscious, though, he knows he can't fall in love with Phil, anyway. 

Phil is human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> le gasp
> 
> kudos/comments make my day. thank you for reading :D
> 
> tumblr @ bluejazzberrys :)
> 
> cya on wednesday - im finally caught up ayy


	9. Chapter 9

PJ is hosting a Halloween party this year. Sure, when they stumble in, a couple is making out rather aggressively in a _literal_ shady corner—underneath an artificial palm tree—and some drunk, green (Hulk costume) hunk knocks right into Phil, who nearly tumbles into Dan. It could've caused the greatest chain-reaction fall of the century, but Dan prevents it from happening as he grabs Phil’s wrist and yanks him back up. 

Phil takes a moment to wonder where Dan gets all his brute strength from. It's almost unfair. 

It's a great party, though. As soon as Phil walks in, an iced beer is pushed into his hands. The flow of conversation is free and warm and golden, pouring out like the beer he was offered earlier that night. 

But still, Phil can feel it creep into his bones: social anxiety. Around midnight, he starts to feel overwhelmed.

The edges of his vision blacken, a black tide swallowing around the center of his grainy view. His sluggish mind gropes for the word: _tunnel vision_ , he remembers. His throat constricts and he suddenly finds it hard to swallow. In fact, he's pretty sure he's about to choke. 

He takes a swig of Malibu, but it's sugary sweet and his tongue feels too big around the syrupy liquid. Somehow, Phil manages to swallow it down.

No one notices. He doesn't _want_ anyone to notice. Tears prick the corner of his eyes, but he refuses to make them fall. The lump in his throat is painful as he swallows around it. 

He takes a few slow breaths, inhaling and exhaling shakily through his nose. With each breath, he recites a mantra in his head: _you’re fine, Phil. It's okay. Everything’s fine. Everything’s f-_

Someone cracks a joke. He can tell by the way Dan is grinning; his chocolate eyes are glowing with mirth. Phil smiles wanly. His hands tremble around the neck of Malibu. It feels like his legs have turned to jelly, and he wonders if they’re going to give out from beneath him. 

Then Dan's gaze lands on Phil and his smile drops in an instant, all traces of amusement vanishing. _I'm going to fall_ , Phil thinks dazedly. 

His body turns numb as a pair of warm hands grab onto his torso. He's enveloped by Dan. One hand is splayed over his stomach, and the other clasps onto his shoulder. He feels a warm puff of air against his ear, but he can't decipher any words. His vision swims. 

He knows he's being a burden right now, but he melts into Dan's arms and allows himself to be carried away. Away from the people, away from the crowd, away from the stench of alcohol, away from the pungent, too-strong cologne. 

Now it's just him and Dan, and Dan smells of something woodsy and cinnamon. It's refreshing, and it clears some of the fog in his head. 

"M'fine... I- jus'... dehydrated," Phil slurs, and it’s not a complete lie. 

Dan sits him down gingerly on PJ's couch. Phil thinks he might hear Dan murmur, "He's fine. I've got him." He feels the couch dip beside him, alerting him of Dan’s presence. Soon they’re sitting side-by-side. 

He hears another voice that sounds like PJ, "let me know if you need anything else." Cracking his eyes open, Phil sees the green bob of PJ’s tall hat; he's Link from Legend of Zelda. Classic Peej. He watches the green blob disappear around the corner. 

Then a cold glass is being pushed into his limp hand. The condensation on the plastic glass is slippery against his trembling fingers. He feels Dan’s fingers brush against his own as the cup moves out of his grasp, and then he feels its coolness against his cheek. 

Jolting, Phil gasps at the cold sensation. His eyes flutter open. Dan is holding the glass up to his face. His almond eyes filter with a hint of worry, but they’re firm at the same time. 

“You alright?” 

Phil doesn't trust his voice, so he simply nods. 

"You wanna go home?"

_Home?_

Phil shakes his head. 

Dan nods, his concerned gaze boring into Phil’s. He can practically hear the unasked, _are you sure?_ “Drink this," Dan presses the glass to Phil's mouth. 

Phil's lips part. Dan pauses, eyes growing wide for a millisecond, before tipping the glass slightly, allowing the cool stream to trickle into Phil’s parched throat. Phil’s chin lifts up, a signal to stop pouring, and Dan removes it from his mouth. He's only had a few meager sips.

"Finish all of it," Dan says, his voice leaving no room for argument. Phil takes the glass from him and tries not to let it spill everywhere when their hands brush together again. 

Dan had literally been wrapped around him a few moments ago. Now just a touch of fingertips has him weak to his knees. _Where is the logic?_

As he drinks, Phil feels Dan's gaze on him the whole time. He also feels the color returning to his face. Damn, maybe he actually _was_ dehydrated. Water always helps though… 

Before he knows it, the final drops are rolling down the slope of the now-warm, empty plastic cup. Phil watches the clear surface fog with the condensation of his breath, and then places the cup on the side table. 

"Are you feeling better?" Dan's voice cocoons over him like a comforting blanket, saturating him with warmth. 

"Yuh,” Phil’s voice is muffled as the back of his hand brushes over his mouth. 

Dan smiles softly, and shakes his head a little. Phil's heart warms as he offers a small smile in return. All traces of distress are gone. 

"Good. That's... good,” Dan’s hand falls onto Phil’s kneecap. Phil blinks down at it dumbly. He takes a deep breath. The alcohol must be messing with his mind, because he leans into Dan’s shoulder, letting his head fall into the crease of his neck. Dan’s sharp intake of breath prompts a flicker of warmth to light up within his chest. 

Phil doesn't know how long they sit there. He just basks in Dan's protective shield. Dan feels like his guardian angel. He remembers his dreams, then. 

His dreams are always troubled. He sees a dragon, and then Dan is there, standing next to him, clutching onto his rigid shoulder. In these dreams, Phil was usually the warrior. His role was to act as a fighter. 

Now his role changes. 

He takes on the role of the guardian angel. It's an instinctual need that's engraved into his bones. A need to protect Dan at all costs. These are his final thoughts as he drifts into the hazy, seasalt-smelling, ocean-filled mists of dreamland.

***

The washed up beach is dreary. It's only them. No families and no screaming children. No toddlers burying themselves in sand. No sandcastles. No blue skies. The sky is a pale gray ashy color. Lightning strikes distantly, buried deep within heavy thunder clouds. Cries of gulls have been replaced with grim squawks of crows. The golden sand is now a bleak, pale beige. Waves swish before them.

Phil stands in front of him, fully dressed in royal blue armor, holding a sword. The structure of the teal helm that rests atop his head reminds Dan of a fish tail. Dan reaches out to touch Phil’s shoulder. Phil whirls around, and Dan’s chest tightens when he sees the crazed panic in his ethereal eyes. Phil’s eyes are always glowing sapphire in his dreams. 

“Dan! What are you doing here?!” 

“That's _my_ question, Phil. What is this place? Nice outfit, by the way.” Dan’s eyes flicker over his body briefly. 

Phil's eyebrows furrow as he fixes Dan with a stern look. It knocks the air out of Dan’s chest. “Dan,” he stresses, “this is not a joke. You have to leave! It's too dangerous.” 

Dan frowns, “What's too dangerous?”

As if the universe has heard him, the ground beneath them starts rumbling. Wind swirls around them in large gusts, whistling like mocking ghosts.

“Shit,” Phil breaths, “it’s too late. Get behind me!” Turning back around, Phil brandishes the sword in firm hands with practiced expertise. The tide becomes severe, twenty-foot waves pounding onto the shore. The white bubbles almost flatten out enough to reach their feet even though they’re at least fifty feet inland. 

Dan can only watch with a dropped jaw behind Phil as a— _what is that?!_ —fantastical beast bursts from the ocean, silver drops of water gleaming as they splutter out with the beast’s descent.

“It's huge!” Dan blurts. 

“Dan, just stay behind me, okay? I'll deal with the dragon.” 

 _Dragon?_ Dan’s mind whirls like water whirls around the dragon’s body. Hundreds and hundreds of scales glitter in the pale light like gems, shimmering in greens and blues and silvers. Suddenly, it strikes Dan: the colors merge in a similar fashion to his ring. The stolen ring.

But his thought process is yanked out of his head and replaced with an instinct, utter terror as a blood-curdling screech emits from the mythical creature. Dan has the sudden urge to hurl himself into the sand to start digging his grave, but something keeps him anchored to Phil; his feet are planted in the sand.

The dragon’s snout is glittering pale green blending with shades of turquoise. Its eyes are glowing blue, not unlike the blue of Phil’s. Dan gazes in wide-eyed awe as the dragon lifts its wings, causing the ocean to ripple spectacularly. Ocean mist wildly spews on their faces and grains of swirling sand nip their cheeks. Phil shuffles forward a few steps. Powerful gusts of wind hinder his movement. His fingers burn white as he grips the sword. 

Dan huddles close to Phil and rests his hand on his shoulder. His heart roars as Phil’s comforting body heat seeps through him. “Phil! What are you _doing_?!” 

“I'm going to fight him, Dan. What other choice do we have?” Phil’s voice sounds distant over the harsh winds.

“You’re going to fight that. With a freaking _sword?!”_  

Phil looks over his shoulder, and Dan’s breath is knocked out of him once more as he notices the determination blazing in the ethereal orbs. “Again, Dan. What other choice do we ha—” The ear-splitting roar interrupts his speech, and his blue eyes widen. He whips his head back to the front. “Stay behind me!” The buffeted wind echoes in his ears.

***

Dan wakes up breathing hard, knocking echoing in his ears. The dim light of the morning rays filter into his room. There's another quick knock at his door, “I made coffee,” Phil's voice filters through. He can hear Phil pad away. Shaking his head, Dan rises from toasty covers and pulls on a shirt and skinny jeans, and then runs through his morning routine.

He meets Phil, who's sipping coffee, on the couch. “Hey, Phil.”

Phil rips his gaze from the tv screen and picks up Dan's steaming mug of coffee from where it's sitting on a side table. He must notice the frown etched on Dan’s face, because he asks, “what's wrong?” 

Dan accepts the drink, fingers immediately tightening around the handle of the mug, “Nothing's wrong, it's just…”

“Just?” Phil's eyes are serene blue. Not like the burning blue in his odd dreams; this blue is different.

“Do you ever have dreams… dreams about a dragon?” 

Phil's eyes widen for a split-second. Dan thinks he must imagine the flicker of fear that passes through them, because why would Phil be scared? But then Phil directs his gaze back to the TV screen. 

“No.”

Dan bites his lip, his heart thrumming low at the base of his throat. He doesn't want to ask more questions, lest Phil gets suspicious. He can't tell Phil that he's not human. Where would he even begin?

So he gulps down some scalding coffee, suppresses a wince from the burn, and joins Phil on the couch. Phil doesn't spare him a glance; he's too engrossed in _Good Omens_. 

***

It happens when Dan’s walking alone in the hallway. Or at least, he thinks he’s alone.

“Dude!”  

Dan freezes. He knows that voice. It’s Alexander, one of his old ‘buddies’. 

“What happened, Howell?”

Dan gradually wheels around, his hand tightening on the strap of his satchel. His breath halts. It’s not only Alex, it’s a few others: Jayce (or was it James?) and Draven. 

There’s a dangerous flicker in J’s eye, and Dan’s stomach is in knots. 

“Uh,” Dan swallows before wetting his cracked lips. He squares his shoulders, “‘Sup.” The voice that comes out is far more confident than the one freaking out inside.

J scoffs, “‘Sup?’” he mocks. He wastes no time in getting to the point, “you friends with Lester-boy now?”

Dan feels his eyebrows knit together as he folds his arms, “Yeah. Problem?”

Sure enough, there’s the high-pitched mimicking of his accent taunted back at him, followed by a, “You were fraternizing with the enemy this whole time?” It’s Draven. Dan barely refrains from snorting at the dim-witted words. It’s like a line out of an outdated action movie. He hears the muttered _fag_ thrown around from someone’s despicable mouth, probably J-dude. The word rings in his ears. His hands ball into tight fists, but his feet are rooted to the floor.

“You left us for _him?_ That weird, clumsy kid? Really?” Alex sneers. Dan feels something hot surging in his chest, unfurling and dangerous.

“I didn’t _leave_ you,” The words come out of his stupid mouth reflexively. He wants to eat them right back up, “I mean -” _yes, yes I did. With purpose._

“Didn’t leave us?” Scoffing, Alex takes a step forward. 

Dan’s blood is boiling. He feels it heat up his ears and streak down his neck. He clenches his teeth, “So what if I did?” He huffs, “Why are you lot so clingy? Shit happens. People make mistakes. Mine was just choosing to stay.” He sucks in a breath. Alex’s face is red now too, and the other two dipshits seem to be struggling to close their fallen jaws. Before Dan can feel the curl of triumph, blistering heat knocks through his system—a different type of heat. It has his chest rising and falling, and Dan knows he needs to get out of this situation before his demon takes control and wreaks havoc. 

He forgot to eat the chocolate. Of course he forgot to eat the damned chocolate. He barely hears the murmurs behind the screeching in his veins.

_-What’s wrong with him, dude. -Dunno, he looks out of it. -Should we do something? -Like what, idiot, suck his dick?_

“Fuck, I -“ Dan starts, inhaling deeply. He’s hit with Alex’s strong cologne, and then another odd scent - perhaps Alex’s natural one, although it smells too pure for someone like him. Against his will, Dan’s eyes linger on Alex’s figure. His maroon t-shirt is form-fitted against his olive skin and isn’t helping Dan at all. He hears the incubus hissing in his brain. _Do it,_ it says, _do it now._ Hunger pulls in his gut, immediately followed by humiliation. Of all people, why _Alex?_ How can he be attracted to this scum on earth? Why isn’t he a regular human? Why does he have to feel excruciating bursts of hunger for absolutely no reason? “I…” 

“Daniel?” A new voice. It sounds angelic, and Dan’s panic-laced hazels meet her baby blues. Understanding immediately flickers through her concerned eyes. “Hello lovelies,” she (ah, so _that_ was the other scent) chirps as she steers Dan away from them, “Dan and I better be off.” She mutters a small chanting under her breath, “ _Et abierunt_.”

The three of them turn stony-still and start walking robotically down the hall in the other direction. The woman rolls her eyes and digs into her bag. “Here,” she presses a candy bar into Dan’s hand. At least he’s capable enough to tear it open and pop it into his mouth.

“Sorry,” he sighs once he’s finished, “I uh…” he frowns, “did you just - give me chocolate?” 

“Why, yes. That was me.” She tucks a lock of golden hair behind an ear.

“Oh.” Dan stares down the hall to see the group of three still bumbling down the hall, “Are they-?” He frowns once more, his gaze flitting from her, to the three musketeers, and back to her, “Uh. Hi. What did - What did you do? Who are you? What is - am I dreaming?”

 She titters and shakes her head lightly, “Not a dream. I’m Cat’s friend,” she offers as explanation, “Louise.”

Dan’s mouth forms a small o. “Right.” Then the words are rushing out, “So you’re also a superhu-” 

He's interrupted by a group of noisy college students that bustle by them. “Yes,” Louise answers anyway, “we should probably chat somewhere else though.” She sends the group a wary glance.  

And they do. Dan doesn’t find out what kind of superhuman Louise is because that’ll mean he’ll have to reveal his own identity, which is absolutely not ideal. He hates the idea of people thinking he kills for sex. Or lives for it. It’s not his choice, but it’s still embarrassing. He hopes he’ll get over the shame one day, when he’s used to the process. He’s a little too fresh right now.

Dan likes Louise. There’s something about her that makes her easy to talk to, just the perfect amount of caring and teasing, and a sprinkle of awkward that just adds to her amiable personality. Besides, he knows he’s connected to her in a deeper way because superhumans can sense others in their class; he knows Louise is manipulation class - just like him. There are many types of creatures that fall into this class, though, so it doesn’t really give him much information to guess what she specifically is. He’s also grateful and relieved that Louise doesn’t push him about his superhuman classification. Perhaps Cat already told Louise about him though, so there’s that. Although, he doubts that’s true.

So they talk all the way until the sun sets. Dan barely realizes it until Louise raises her eyebrows, “my, my! It’s gotten so late.” 

“It has?” Dan is incredulous. It’s only felt like ten minutes, but when he checks the time, it’s really been a few hours, “It _has!_ ” 

Louise laughs while collecting her belongings, “Time _does_ fly when you’re having fun, but I’ve got to get going, Dan. I’ve got some terrible differential equations waiting for me at home.” 

“Differential what-now?”

Louise smiles, “I know, it sounds horrid.”

Dan stands up as well, suddenly feeling awkward on how to bid her farewell. “Well,” he starts before Louise barrels into him.

“It was so good to see you, Dan!” She squeezes him, “I’ve heard so much about you from Cat, but you’re,” stepping back, she coughs tellingly, “very different from what she described.” Her eyes grow distant, as if she’s reflecting on some traumatizing memory.

“What did she say about me?” Dan whispers conspiratorially. He and Cat didn’t exactly leave things on good footing.

“Oh, you know,” Louise shrugs, “she’s always complaining about this and that - how she’s your Lilith and all,” she flaps a hand, “nothing too major, don’t worry.”

A small weight leaves Dan’s shoulders - one he didn’t even know existed.

“Well, I’ll see you again, Dan! Bye for now!” And then she’s gone in another flash of pearly white teeth and bouncy strawberry-blonde curls.

***

The first thing Dan does when he gets back home is flop onto his bed and groan into his pillow. He’s still not over the thing that happened with Alex… _what a big box of yikes._

“Dan,” He hears Phil call.

“Mrph.”

He hears Phil’s footsteps on their floorboards, followed by a brief knock on his door. His door squeaks open. “Dan?” Dan hums a response. “Did you get the milk?”

Fuck. He had one job. Dan sighs and turns his head to the side so that his words are coherent, “no, I… I forgot.” 

“Oh, that’s…” Phil trails off, and then seems to notice Dan’s posture for the first time, “you alright?”

“Hm? Yeah, fine. Just… tired.” It’s true. He _is_ tired. He is. 

“Well, it _is_ rather late,” Phil murmurs. Dan can hear the shuffle of Phil’s feet as he enters the room, “you should probably get some sleep.” 

Dan closes his eyes and inhales deeply, the scent of his sheets familiar and calming. “Yeah. I reckon I should.” He can’t tell Phil. Why can’t he tell Phil? A stubborn voice responds, firmly asserting, _you can’t tell Phil,_ clenching his jaw.

There’s a pause before Phil checks once more, “You sure you’re alright?”

 _No._ “Yes, Phil. I’ll get over it.”

“Over what?”

“Over my shit friends,” Dan spits venomously, “Or should I say my not-friends, who are still shit.”

“Oh.” Phil puffs. 

“Sorry, I’m not angry at you, I’m just -”

Dan feels the bed dip. If it were anyone but Phil, he would be screaming at them to leave. For some reason, Phil’s presence is more grounding than invasive or intimidating. Dan shoves that thought to the back of his head.

“I know, Dan. You don’t have to apologize,” Phil soothes, “You’ll always have me, and well… you shouldn’t be too cross about them. They’re probably not worth your time.”

Dan huffs, “yeah. You’re right about _that_.” 

Phil chuckles, “I’m always right.”

“Hm, debatable,” Dan hums.

There’s a soft impact on Dan’s shoulder, where Phil has shoved him. But Phil soon concedes, “Alright, fine. Maybe not _always_ . Is anyone _always_?”

Dan snorts, “Wow, great conviction, Phil. Gotta admire that about you.”

“Shut up,” Dan can hear the smile in his voice. It’s tinged with something else, but he can’t clearly identify it.

“At least I made a new friend, though,” Dan murmurs after a pause, almost afraid that Phil will hear.

“You did? See, you’re already making progress,” Phil declares softly. Dan smiles, warmth flooding through him. 

“I guess so. Her name’s Louise.”

“Pendleton?”

“Yeah, I think. Know her?”

“Heard of her,” Phil corrects, “she’s nice. She helped pick up my books when they fell over.”

Dan snorts, “Of course.” It’s just so _Phil_ . “Of _course_ when your books fell over.”

“You’re focusing on that part? I’m talking about Louise here.”

Dan ignores him, “Clumsy oaf.”

“Honestly, I won’t even try to deny that one.”

***

In mid-November, Professor Craft declares their partners:

“Now that you have some core knowledge—a few of you, at least—we will be visiting the local art museum!” 

A few cheers ring out in the room. 

She claps her hands together, eyes glowing, “You will be traveling with your partner. Oh my, isn't this exciting? I already get to pick your partners!”

Professor Craft always sounds like she's mocking them, Phil thinks. Then his brain short-circuits because the professor has flicked on the projector and their names are displayed in bold, red text. Phil’s eyes scan the rows and rows of names, but he can't find his. His heart rate picks up. What if he's with some random person? 

But suddenly Dan—who has also been searching the screen with frantic eyes—spins around in his seat. He's glowing like a child on Christmas morning, “Phil!” 

“We’re partners?” Phil’s heart surges. 

“Yes!” Dan’s foot pokes his ankle underneath the table, and Phil buzzes with excitement. PJ claps Phil on his shoulder, a knowing glimmer in his green eyes. 

“Looks like you guys got lucky,” PJ starts, “I got stuck with Chris over here,” he nods his head at Chris. 

“Shut up, Peej, as if you didn't want _this_ ,” Chris grins, gesturing obscenely to his body. They share a collective laugh, and Phil can't help but notice how Dan is bubbling with the brightness of a beacon. Something within him melts a little at the thought of Dan wishing to be his partner. 

“Alright children! Enough chatter,” Professor Craft says with an air of authority, “Now that you know your partners—see, I was nice with my choices, wasn't I?” She winks. PJ nudges Phil and he’s grateful that Dan is turned around so he can't see the blush that surfaces on his cheeks. But his heart jumps when he notices the red tint of Dan’s ears. “You will be participating in a scavenger-hunt-like competition there. Of course, only the ones with the best knowledge shall win. I have high hopes for this class. Dismissed!” 

***

Friday night passes by in a flurry of papers and late-night discussions of art analysis. On Saturday morning, Phil wakes up with a kinked neck and a sore spine. He had slept on the floor, leaning against a sofa, which is covered in books and hastily-scribbled notes. A colorful quilt rests over his shoulders. Dan must’ve threw it over him, because Phil doesn’t remember sleeping with it. He lifts his head—wincing as his neck cracks—and reaches for his glasses. His hands find the black frames on the coffee table, after knocking off a few notebooks. Sliding them on, he blinks twice slowly. 

Dan is asleep on the sofa across from him. Phil stifles his laughter. Dan’s long body barely fits on it; his feet hang off the edge and his head is tilted in an undoubtedly uncomfortable position. Somehow, he still takes Phil’s breath away in the pale, morning light. His brown curls are sticking all over the place in tufts, but his face is tranquil, somehow making him glow with youth. Phil has to berate himself as he stares a second too long at his lips. They’re pale pink in the white light, and Phil can't help but wonder if they’re as soft as they look. 

Clearly, he hasn't had enough sleep. Dan is his friend, his brain asserts firmly. He rises, hissing as his knees crack, and starts scavenging for some food in the kitchen. He finds a box of Dan’s legacy crunchy-nut in the cupboard. Glancing backwards, he sticks a hand in and eats a handful of the sweet, flaky treats that are probably too sugary to be deemed healthy. A moment passes. He eats another handful. 

“Is that my crunchy-nut?”

Phil jolts, nearly dropping the box to the floor. He whirls around, carefully keeping the box unseen behind his back, “No!” 

Dan is wearing an oversized night shirt. As Phil’s eyes drag down Dan’s body, his breathing pattern shifts. He belatedly notices that Dan is standing in front of him, also wearing tight, _tight_ pants. 

Dan prowls towards him with narrowed eyes. Phil holds his breath, determined to keep his eyes leveled as Dan finally stops two feet away from him. In moments like these, Phil wonders if he's the only one who feels the electricity crackling between them. 

Dan’s hand flings out it front of him, turned face-up, like he expects the cereal to appear into his waiting hand. He cocks an eyebrow; Phil thinks he must look like a bewildered rabbit as his crystal eyes flick down, and then back up, and then down once more. Phil swallows. 

 _Dan has big hands_ , the thought breaks into Phil’s mind before he can stop it. No no no. _Wonder what they would feel like on_ —he cuts his brain off, taking sharp breath. Then he tries to look more convincing. Frowning at Dan’s hand, he mutters, “What?”

Dan snorts. Then Phil blinks and Dan’s arms are around him, brushing over his shoulders, to the wide expanse of his back. Phil’s clumsy limbs move on autopilot as he thrusts the flimsy box into the air. His heart thunders in his ears as Dan laughs, breath tickling the shell of his ear. 

“Phil, that trick would probably work on _anyone_ that's not me. I'm taller than you, remember?” 

No. No Phil doesn't remember. Because Dan’s voice is smooth and low and bordering on illegal. He makes a mental note: Dan’s velvet voice is dangerous in the morning. Phil’s breath hitches as Dan’s hand crawls around his wrist, goose-flesh following in its path. Time stops around them. They’re flushed together for barely one second, but it feels like so much longer. Phil gasps as the Dan rips the box out of his numb hand. 

“Hey—!”

“Knew it,” Dan grins, infuriatingly smug. He takes a moment to barbarically shove some cereal in his mouth, crunching loudly. “So, what’s the plan for today?” Dan asks once he’s done stuffing his rather obnoxious face. Phil tells himself the frustration brewing tight in his chest has to do with Dan being a maddening, annoying asshole, and nothing else.

Shrugging, Phil hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels, “movie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading and for kudos & comments!! :D  
> they are very much appreciated <3  
> cya next wed :))
> 
> tumblr @bluejazzberrys


	10. Chapter 10

They had spent the afternoon binging on Buffy (Phil’s choice), and then playing rounds and rounds of Mario kart (Dan’s choice), which they had played well into the hours of dusk. Now they’re bickering over which movie to watch—Studio Ghibli or Marvel? 

“C’mon, Dan. Studio Ghibli is always the better choice,” Phil whines. They’re still in their pyjamas. They’ve been in them the whole day. 

“That may be true, but I'm feeling Marvel today, Phil.”

Phil frowns from their make-shift nest, which is just a pile of blankets and pillows heaped together in a lumpy mess. Despite its poorly constructed appearance, it accomplishes its sole purpose: comfort. And it has been the cause for an impromptu pillow-fight. 

When Phil doesn't respond, Dan continues, “Please Phil? My birthday’s coming up soon.”

Phil deadpans, “We’re in the middle of winter.” 

“So?” Dan continues with the act, trying not to let the lie show on his face, “My birthday is on November… sixth.” 

Phil snorts, “You’re a terrible liar.”

“What?” Dan squaks indignantly, “it  _ is! _ ” 

“Dan. I already know when your birthday is.”

Dan’s breath catches. “Oh.” His face heats in embarrassment.

“If anything, it’s  _ my  _ birthday that’s coming up,” Phil murmurs. 

Dan shoots him a narrow-eyed look, “Yeah? When’s  _ your  _ birthday then?”

“January,” Phil responds flippantly.

“You better not be fucking with me,” Dan deadpans.

“What? It’s January 30th; I’m not kidding mate!”

But Dan isn’t listening, because his hands are chucking a pillow at Phil.

“ _ Dan! _ ” Phil giggles, clutching the pillow over a haphazardly thrown duvet, “We can't have another pillow fight. You almost broke my glasses in the last one.” 

“You should've removed your glasses, then,” Dan grins as his hand digs into another colorful pillow. 

Phil's hands splay out in front of him in a show of defense, “You know I'm blind as a bat. I wouldn't be able to differentiate between you and the pillow.” 

“Too bad you're too lazy to put in your contacts,” Dan flings the pillow at Phil, and Phil manages to catch it before it gets bombarded into his face. 

Phil hurls the pillow back as Dan rises to stand up, but Dan frustratingly catches it with his annoyingly impressive reflexes. 

“That's rich coming from the guy who’s still in his pants,” Phil’s eyebrows raise, and then his eyes bounce down to the golden skin of Dan’s legs. Dan’s _long_ legs; he’s still wearing those tight pants, and Phil, not knowing whether they're a blessing or a curse, is entranced by the shadows dancing on his thighs from the dimmed lights, and _fuck I'm staring._ _Fuck say something quick._

The words tumble out of Phil’s mouth, “You should put on some trousers, at least.” He hopes Dan can't see the blush spreading its way onto his pale face. He can practically  _ feel _ its glowing warmth and  _ god it's hot in here. _

Then Dan says something that stops all of Phil’s coherent thoughts. 

His voice is a low drawl, “Why? Aren’t you enjoying the view, Philly?” 

_ Yes. Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.  _ Phil stops his train of thought; he can’t say that. There's a line; there are some things he just can't say. Pointedly staring into Dan’s eyes, Phil finds himself mirroring Dan’s voice, and to his horror the words that come out of his mouth are  _ So. Much. Worse.  _ “What if I am?”

-

Dan's breath hitches. It wasn't the answer he was expecting. Not to mention, since when did he find Phil’s voice so…  _ delicious _ ? His knees suddenly feel weak.

Dan doesn't know how to respond, so he just laughs instead.  _ Make it a joke. Make it a joke. It's what you’re best at.  _ He's pleased when Phil chortles along with him. Phil just  _ knows _ . 

“What do you want—popcorn or Doritos?” Dan asks once their giggles have dwindled down. Phil’s face is flushed, eyes shining with mirth — or at least, Dan thinks it’s mirth and not glazed arousal. 

“Popcorn! Do you even know me?” 

Dan rolls his eyes, even though he can't stop smiling, “ _ Yes _ , I know, but I want Doritos too.” 

Phil’s eyebrows raise in exasperation, “What was the point in asking then?” 

Dan huffs, “Fucks’ sake, fine. Next time I'll just get Doritos and you won't have any say in it,” Dan says moodily, crossing his arms, but Phil doesn't miss the playful gleam in his eyes. Dan turns away and stomps to the kitchen. 

Phil chuckles, “Drama queen,” he calls. 

Dan’s voice floats from the kitchen, “No popcorn for you.” 

Shaking his head as he smiles, Phil gets up soundlessly and starts searching through the Studio Ghibli films. He sorts through  _ Spirited Away, Howl’s Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke, _ and more… which one to pick? 

He’s interrupted from his search when Dan enters the room with a giant bowl of overflowing, white popcorn. The crisp smell wafts into the lounge and Phil swans over. His hand darts out to grab a handful a little too enthusiastically. 

He barely has time to catch Dan’s reprimanding, “ _ Phil—!” _ before some kernels are falling to the floor, onto the soft duvets. The whole floor is practically covered with blankets; there’s only a few rare patches of carpet beneath that can be seen. And now they’re covered in some popcorn too. 

Dan sends him a deadpan, and he restrains himself from dumping the rest of the popcorn all over Phil’s giggling face. Phil's eyes are sparkling blue as he obnoxiously crunches into a mouthful of the warm kernels. 

Dan huffs, balancing the bowl away from Phil’s grasp. “ _ You’re _ picking that up, mister.” His gaze drops to the floor. Phil follows it, and his eyes widen, as if noticing the mess for the first time.

“Oh. Oops?”

“Yeah  _ oops _ .”

Phil chuckles sheepishly and drops down to pick the small pieces up. Breath hitching, Dan realizes that Phil’s face is dangerously close to his crotch. He stumbles backwards, nearly dropping the whole bowl of precious popcorn, but regains his balance last-moment. His heart thrums in his ribcage. That was close. He's secretly relieved that Phil hadn't seen it. 

Then the chime of their door breaks through the lazy air. 

“That'll be the pizza,” Dan mumbles as he plucks some scrumptious popcorn from the bowl. 

“I'm not answering that,” Phil says firmly as he rises and dusts himself off. He’s cupping a handful of dusty popcorn. “You always get ridiculous amounts of dips.” 

“Condiments are a blessing, Phil!” Dan cries, offended, “and extremely underrated.” 

The doorbell chimes again, and Phil moves to throw the popcorn into a dustbin. 

“Fine,” Dan finally huffs, “we’re watching  _ my  _ movie choice then.”

Phil pauses to weigh the options. At last, he relents, “...alright, fine. Which movie?”

“Iron Man. No wait, Captain America. Whatever, something Marvel,” Dan flaps a hand as he bounds off to open the door. He returns with the hot and fresh and  _ perfect  _ pizza. 

Dan only eats one slice though; he doesn't want to be sick all over Iron Man. 

“Movie?” Dan asks, midway through eating his slice.

Phil nods, “Yeah. Can we watch Thor though?” 

Dan snorts, “You have an obsession with him, don't you.”

Phil doesn't bother denying it as he opens Netflix. After selecting  _ Thor: Ragnarok _ , they both snuggle into their respective blankets. 

 

_ Several hours later… _

 

The wind is whistling outside and the world is covered in a blanket of snow. A blur of flakes flutter in the pale glow of the lamp-light. The smell of fresh cookies and pine and fire-crackle is heavy in the halls of their university. Indoors are lit with golden lights, and a few Christmas trees are perched in front of windows. Some conveniently-placed mistletoe hover in the air, winking mockingly in the gleam of Christmas lights. 

On this November night, when Dan is twirling the comforting, yet mystifying, ring in his finger, he finally decides to search it up. What is the meaning of the carefully scrawled etchings? Why has he held onto it for so long? Why did he steal it from that ginger boy so long ago in the first place? He scrolls through endless matches, but nothing seems to fit. 

Then finally: 

_ These colored rings have thin, carefully crafted calligraphy on their face. Most of the time, the letter will usually be the first letter of the last name. Being part of an ancient Hylian dialect, the runes are powerful and thus the rings are treasured in superhuman families.  _

Dan sucks in a breath. That means the ginger boy he stole it from must also be a SH.

_ If you see one of these rings, know that they are important in signifying a belonging to a clan. Clans will obtain them through their ancestors and family lineage. Not only are they incredibly rare, but the ring could be passed down over centuries, therefore making them extremely ancient artifacts in demon lore and superhuman mythology— _

He's so engrossed that he doesn't hear the brisk knock at the door. 

“Dan…?” Phil peeps his head through the door. Dan jolts from his laptop, glancing up from the enthralling text. 

“Wh-oh, hey Phil.”

“What’re you—” Phil’s eyes flicker down to the ring twirling in Dan’s hand. His eyes grow as wide as dinner plates, voice deathly calm, “where did you get that?” 

“I…” Dan stares down at the glittering ornament, unable to notice the way Phil’s hands tremble. “I got it when I was little.” It’s not a lie, but why is he omitting the truth?

“How did you get it?” Phil presses.

No. It can't be. No fucking way. Dan’s stomach drops as he’s hit with the uncanny resemblance. Same profile, same blue eyes. How has he never noticed?! His heart palpitates as the words tumble from his gaping mouth, “Th-this is  _ yours _ ?!” 

“Of course it is!” Phil’s eyebrows furrow, “That's a precious heirloom! I've been looking for it for  _ ages _ .” 

Dan’s brain short-circuits, “Wh- you’re a— you’re—no! You’re a superhuman? Supernatural human?!” Dan splutters. His stomach drops from under his feet, through the floor. A realization crashes down on him, and— _ it all makes sense now! _ — _ that's  _ why Phil didn't feel weak when he had kissed him back at the infirmary. That's why  _ Phil didn't die.  _ That’s why Phil-

“I-” Phil starts, becoming reserved. A cold, untrusting gleam flickers in his icy-blue eyes, “wait… how the hell do  _ you _ know what a supernatural human is?”

“Because! I  _ am _ one!” Dan’s fingers involuntarily squeeze around the ring. 

“ _ What the fuck _ .” 

“Phil don't bullshit me here. I'm not giving this ring out for free. I picked it from this blond-ish gingery boy back when I was—what—like, five years old? We weren’t friends. In fact, I'm pretty sure we resented each other. We fought over something—I just don't remember what—and I nicked it to spite him. How the hell would I have known at five years of age that this was some kind of—some kind of precious  _ antique _ ?!”

“Dan! That boy was  _ me! _ ” 

A pregnant pause whooshes through the air. 

“Dan. That ring is extremely important to me; I don't think you understand. It's clear you're a superhuman, so I'll just tell you that I'm also…” Phil takes a deep, leveled breath, “I’m also a superhuman… The ring represents the Lester people, and I haven't even told my parents that I had lost it ‘cuz they would've been well furious. They think I still have it, actually.” Phil shakes his head, his gaze going distant as he murmurs strings of, “God, this is crazy. This is  _ crazy.  _ I mean-” he huffs, “You? Pfft.  _ Crazy _ .”

“But—your hair!” Dan blurts at last. 

Phil squints, “Um. What?”

“That boy was blond. YouhaveblackhairItcouldn'thavebeenyo—”

Phil clutches his stomach and is almost knocked backwards by the force of his loud-bellied laughter. Dan can only gape in awe, frustration building with every passing second. 

“What. What?  _ What’s so fucking funny?! _ ” Dan feels dizzy. Dangerous thoughts are racing through his mind, swirling around in his muddled brain. His heart thrums low in his throat, beating like a hummingbird’s. 

Phil is watery-eyed when he finally stops. A few giggles still interrupt his speech, “ _ Dan _ . Oh my gosh. I can't believe this. You stubborn asshole, I remember the whole encounter. You and your freakin’ cupcake—anyway, not the point.” Phil takes a hefty breath, a hand cradling his ribs. Then he shifts the hair of his glorious quiff, and Dan stops breathing. 

“No. Fucking. Way.”

He scrambles up from his criss-cross position on his bed to inspect Phil’s hair, hands delicately sifting through the strands. Phil giggles lightly, breath hitching as Dan pulls on a loc firmly. He doesn’t notice when Phil stops breathing; his mind is racing too fast.

Dan’s voice is filled with wondrous horror when he steps back, “You mother f—bastard! Since when did you dye your hair?! You absolute sneaky snek. You little con-artist fuck.” 

“Hey! No name-calling now, Danny,” a smile twitches at Phil’s lips. Then he shrugs, “And besides, now you know.”

“Oh,  _ now I know _ , huh?” Dan violently grabs Phil’s collar, “When were you planning on telling me?”

Phil, unfazed, quirks his lip, “Telling you what?—that I was a superhuman or the same boy you harassed in that bakery?”

Dan releases Phil’s collar from his white-knuckled grip, “I didn't  _ harass _ you,” Dan mutters, crossing his arms. Frowning, he continues, “and—both!”

Phil rolls his glimmering orbs, “Well, first of all, how the hell was I supposed to know that you’re a superhuman too?” 

“I—! Okay,” Dan sighs, and then belatedly realizes that he's been pacing around his room. “That's fair, but what about… the bakery?” An eyebrow raises. 

“Well, to be honest, I didn't recognize you either, Dan.” Phil frowns and scrutinizes Dan’s face, as if looking for resemblance. “Believe it or not, your hair was also lighter then; I think you were closer to ginger too.” 

“Oh right…” Dan’s eyes grow distant and a finger comes up to tap his bottom lip. He doesn’t notice Phil’s treacherous gaze linger on the gesture because he’s mumbling, “yeah, I was blonde for the first six years of my life.”

Then Dan snaps out of his murmuring; his voice returns to its flippant tone, “Well, it doesn't matter. Your face changed more than mine, so you should've recognized me. And you should've at least told me you were a superhuman.” Dan’s finger digs into Phil’s chest. He feels Phil’s bubble of laughter when he speaks. 

“You never asked, Dan.” 

“How was I—oh, forget it,” Dan perches his hands on his hips and looks away, mind reeling. Then his chocolate eyes flick back to Phil’s hair. He's apparently still not over the fact that Phil dyes it, “the black hair is hot anyway.” His breath hitches as soon as the words are out.  _ Did I say that out loud?  _ Damn Phil and his ability to make him talk stupid. 

Phil, cocking an eyebrow, drawls, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Dan squeaks, face erupting in flames. A sound emits from his mouth—a sound that will have Dan hiding in his pillow as he thinks  _ no, I didn't make that sound,  _ during sleepless nights—as Phil’s hand traces down his forearm, goose-flesh following in its wake. His soul is sucked out of him, body turning rigid. He can only hear his heart, which thuds heavily up his throat. Phil raises Dan’s weighted hand so that it's shoulder-level between them, and then proceeds to pluck the ring off of his open palm. 

“I think I’m the rightful owner of this now,” Phil purrs, taking the ring, along with Dan’s thrumming heart. As soon as Phil leaves, Dan collapses in a pile of melted bones, blinded by the dense fog of lust that suspends in the air. 

Something about the way Phil had said  _ owner _ has shivers running through Dan’s body. His mind floods with dark, possessive thoughts because all he can think of is  _ rightful owner of… what… of whomst? _ in his delirious hunger. His body screams at him in hunger, especially since Phil has dropped the bombshell on him: he's not human. 

In his subconscious, he had always pushed his attraction to Phil away because he had been constantly repeating  _ Phil is human. Phil is human. Phil is human.  _ Whenever he had the desire stirring in his chest, his subconscious had built an auto-response to it:  _ You can't love Phil. He’s human; he’ll die.  _ But now Phil isn't human, and he won't die, and Dan doesn't know what to do with himself. He doesn't know what to do with the new information. He doesn't know what to do  _ at all.  _

Shaky hands flit across the luminous screen of his phone. It’s been a while since he’s sent her a message, and a meeting for them has been long-overdue.

[Dan|24:34]  _ can we talk pls _

The reply is almost instantaneous and a bubble of relief breaks amidst the tightly-wound inner turmoil of his chest.

[Cat|24:36] _ I’ll be at the Corner Bakery... we’ll catch up then  _

[Cat|24:36]  _ I’m sure u have lots to tell me. It’s been months _

It almost sounds like a threat, even though it should sound more like a promise.

***

“Why don't you understand, Cat? I've told you so many times: I can't feed from Phil.”

“Yeah! Because he was previously  _ human! _ ” She hisses. 

“So what? Just because I know he’s a SH now means I can just go up to him and say, ‘ _ hey, you, me _ ,  _ fuck _ ,  _ sound good?’  _ ?!” 

Cat simultaneously exclaims, “Yes!” as Dan grits, “No!”

The rich smells of coffee and sweet bakes float in the air as two distressed humans—no, not humans—sit at a square wooden table. 

Sipping her tea, Cat deadpans, “You’re so stupid, oh my god.” Dan frowns, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. His knee starts bouncing. He absently wonders why they're eating at a bakery at nearly one in the morning. Oh yeah, because Phil’s not a fucking human anymore.

After she thoughtfully chews on a bite of her cupcake, Cat leans forward, “Okay, first of all, what is he?” 

“Like what kind of demon?” 

“Yeah—what classification is he?”

“Oh. Well, I don't really—”

“You don't know?!! How—oh my god, true  _ idiots _ ,” her hands fling into the air dramatically.

Dan’s frowns again, “Well, I think he might have to do with dragons or something?” 

Cat’s eyes bulge, “He’s a dragon-heir?! How do you know?” 

Dan doesn't know why his face suddenly feels warm as he reveals the incidents of his recent dreams. Blurry images of silver and blues in an ocean, and the roar of a fantastical beast.

“Oh my god,” she marvels as he finishes. 

“Are those the only words you can say now?”

She narrows her eyes, “Shut up. _God_ , you’re stupid.” Dan watches her take another graceful bite of her cupcake. Her eyes grow distant and a hand comes up to touch her chin in thought, “He's probably a water dragon from what you described…” her eyes grow fierce as they snap back on Dan, “And dragons? They’re power class. They literally have the most life energy! They’re overflowing with it! Hell, you could probably have him for breakfast, lunch, _and_ _dinner_.” Dan’s face is suddenly too hot and he promptly chokes on his chocolate-chip cookie. The heat spreads over his ears and sears down his neck. 

“ _ Cat! _ You can't just  _ say _ -”

Cat ignores him, “And you’re the idiot who’s on the opposite end of the spectrum, almost dying with the lack of life force you have.” She points and accusatory finger, dotted with a few cupcake crumbs, at him, “And then some sweet gentleman—who's your _literal_ meal, if your idiot mind couldn't decipher—walks into your life, who _happens_ to be a freaking dragon, who's literally around you at _all times_ —I mean talk about a fucking serving on a silver platter, Dan. And you just— _refuse?!_ ” Her hands splutter out dramatically once again. 

Dan winces, “Well, when you put it that way—”

Her hand slams down on the table, and Dan watches her half-eaten cupcake hop on the wooden surface, “No, there's  _ no way _ you could twist that around to make it look bad. Just accept that you’re being stupid. Open your eyes, Dan!” 

“Phil is my friend!” Dan finally erupts, “I wouldn't do that to him. I can't just—” his face burns infuriatingly, “Fuck!” To his mortification, he gets a few head-turns from a nearby table. And the one next to it. And maybe the entire shop. They had just been having a casual conversation. Why does everything have to turn into a steaming pile of shit? His chest is tight and his heart is thudding. “Stop stressing me out, Cat,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Goddamnit.”

“For gods’ sake, Dan,” she finally huffs, “If you don't take him,  _ I _ will.”

Dan gasps, hands balling into fists. Cat almost wants take it back after she sees his expression; Dan seethes, “You. Wouldn't.”

However, she raises a precarious eyebrow and continues with the act, “Try me. I get first pick, Dan. I'm your Lilith, remember?” Her voice lilts teasingly as she leans back in her chair and crosses her arms in a haughty manner. It rubs him in the wrong way. 

A muscle twitches in Dan’s jaw as his teeth clench, “ _ My Lilith _ ,” he mutters. The chair screeches noisily as he rises. “Thanks for all the  _ help _ ,” he nearly spits, poison dripping in his tone. He storms out of the small bakery, restrained fury pouring out of his jerky movements. 

“Dan—!”  _ I didn't mean it!  _ But he's already gone, door rattling loudly behind him. The bells chime meekly with his exit. Cat facepalms, exhaling through her nose as she feels the eyes of the public burning into her. Nibbling on her chocolate, she resolves to clear the tension.

 

_ The next evening…  _

 

[Cat|20:46]  _ Hey, look ik I'm being a bitch, but pls u have to do something for me _

Dan huffs out a breath, and stares at the ceiling,  _ now what?! _

Phil glances up. They’re both sitting in the lounge, laptops in hand. Dan brushes off his curious gaze with a shake of the head,  _ it's nothing _ . Then his phone buzzes again. 

[Cat|20:48] _ I need you to make a cake _

Dan raises an eyebrow as he shifts from his multiple-chin-inducing position into a more proper-sitting position. 

[Cat|20:49]  _ Pls _

[Cat|20:50]  _ It's for Anthony _

[Cat|20:50] _ Pls it's v important _

[Cat|20:50]  _ I just have no time to make one _

[Cat|20:53] _ Look I know ur mad about what I said… I wasn't being serious Dan  _

[Cat|20:53]  _ Pls just tell me u can make the damned cake and I'll leave u alone  _

Before his phone can make another obnoxious buzz that will have Phil asking questions, Dan’s fingers fly on his screen. 

[Dan|20:55]  _ ffs will u stop spamming me  _

[Dan|20:55] _ and what makes u think i have the ability to make a cake _

[Cat|20:55] _ I’ll give u the instructions it'll be… well a piece of cake, if I may _

Dan has trouble restraining his snort, and it has Phil glancing up again. 

“What...?” Phil utters after some hesitation.

“Nothing, ‘s just Cat.” 

-

There's a pause. Phil stares pointedly at his laptop screen, unable to meet Dan’s eyes, “Oh. Are you guys… a thing?” 

Dan almost laughs out loud, “No. No way in  _ hell _ .” He says the last part a little too aggressively. 

The unknown tension in Phil’s shoulders loosens, “Oh. I see…” goddamnit, why is he so awkward. Dan doesn't seem to notice, however. 

“I mean… first of all… I'm not str—I mean,” Dan cuts himself off and sighs, “never mind,” which prompts Phil to burn with curiosity;  _ was he saying what I think he was going to say? _ He pushes the wishful thinking out of his mind. Then Dan continues, “Cat and I… well it's kind of a long story. Cat is also a SH.”

“Really?!” Phil pauses. “Wow. I didn't know there were more of us here.” Absently continuing his scroll through Reddit, past a deep-fried meme, Phil asks, “So, what is she?” 

“Uh… not sure if she’d want you to know, but… she's a succubus.”

“Ah.”  _ Succubus _ . He’s never heard of it. “What’s that, again?” 

-

Dan worries his teeth over his lip. A succubus isn't even an incubus, but they are slightly related; the only thing that separates them is gender. So Dan can't help himself when he blurts, “Y’know, I don't really know either.” His chest tightens. He never likes lying to Phil. 

“Oh right, what kind of superhuman are you, anyway?” Phil seems blasé for such a loaded question. Granted, Phil probably doesn’t know that it’s a loaded question in the first place, but still. 

Pausing, Dan’s face burns red to his frustration, “Umm. It's- uh. Embarrassing.” 

“Aw c’mon, it can't be  _ that _ bad!” 

It is that bad, though. Regardless of his inability to eat proper meals, he essentially has to be a slut for the rest of his life if he wants to survive. Why couldn't he be born a pixie or something? Because he’s not petite and cute? Fuck  _ that _ . Fucking genetics. Every living moment weighs him down. If only he had the social ability to just go and get laid, but he knows it's not that simple. 

Being an incubus is difficult enough. Add crippling awkwardness to the mix, and it's a recipe for disaster. He hates the prickling hunger he feels constantly. Sometimes, when he’s pacing in his bedroom, he yearns to be  _ normal _ , wishes it was all just a dream. But the next morning he’ll wake up an incubus and is dragged around by his own self-deprecation for the day. 

The tinkle of his phone interrupts his spiraling train of thought, and his eyes betray him as they bounce to his luminous screen. 

[Cat|20:59] _ Dan stop being a whiny baby. I won't eat ur hot-ass boyfriend okay?? _

Dan clutches his phone in his hand, a blend of anger and relief zipping through him. He ignores the relief. He feels Phil’s intent gaze on him as he texts back. 

[Dan|21:00]  _ why cant any of ur other friends bake it?? what about lou? _

Phil is still looking thoughtfully at him, a hand smoothing across his jaw in contemplation. Dan’s phone buzzes almost immediately, and he can hear the plea in Cat’s words. 

[Cat|21:00]  _ Louise isn't gonna be here! She's gone on an environmental bio trip to Australia _

[Cat|21:01] _ Pls Dannn _

“Tell me your classification, at least,” Phil tries to negotiate. Dragging his eyes away from his phone, Dan bites his lip.  _ Should I?  _ How many types are in the manipulation class? He only knows succubi, incubi, pixies, sirens… and that's about it. There’s probably more, though, because he has limited knowledge.

Dan shakes his head, “Try guessing.  _ Maybe  _ I'll confirm it if you get it right.” That gives him some leeway; even if Phil guesses right, he doesn't have to confirm if it’s right because he had said  _ maybe _ . Sighing, Phil leans back against the couch, laptop forgotten. He gazes distantly at the ceiling, cerulean eyes lost in thought. Then his hands are on his laptop in a flash, and Dan’s lungs seize as his body turns rigid, “What are you up to? Are you searching me up?” 

“How can I search you up if I don't even know what you are?” Phil shoots him a scowl.

Dan scoffs, albeit deflating, “Touché.” 

Phil hums, and then groans, “I can't find it.” 

“ _ What? _ ” 

“It's stupid anyway…”

Dan raises his eyebrows, urging him to continue with his eyes. 

“The only embarrassing superhuman types I could think of was the smelly type- maybe troll or goblin-heirs. You know, like bad-smelling demons? But it was a stupid guess anyway, ‘cuz you smell normal.” Rising from the couch, Phil promptly leans over to test his theory, eyes falling shut as he buries his nose into Dan’s neck. 

The breath is sucked out of Dan’s lungs as Phil invades his personal space. Phil’s breath washes over the skin of his neck, and heat erupts in his stomach, simmering in its depths. Dan’s breath hitches as Phil leans back and his heart hammers in his chest. When Phil speaks, his voice is gravelly and his eyes are  _ blown _ , “Mmm nope. You smell  _ del _ -” Looking away, Phil clears his throat, “ _ really _ good.”

Dan’s mouth parts against his will, and he restrains himself from panting like a bloody wild animal. Suddenly he’s grateful he's sitting down otherwise he would be a boneless mess on the floor. And a nagging thought enters his mind: his attraction to Phil is his  _ own _ . He had just eaten chocolate, and he still feels the electric hunger burning him to his core. He doesn't want to overanalyze the thought, however, and he shoves it back to a dark, dark corner of his subconscious. Dangerous thoughts, those were. Dangerous thoughts. 

Phil clears his throat, “Uhm. Definitely not that one.” He plops back down on his respective couch and fumbles for his laptop. Dan can only stare, dumbfounded, wondering if that had really just happened. Maybe the hungry incubus made him hallucinate. But the soft pink rising up to Phil’s usually pale cheekbones suggests otherwise. 

Then his phone snags him out of his troubled thoughts. 

[Cat|21:09] _ Dan I didn't want to do it this way but… as your Lilith, I am commanding you to make this cake. I need it by Friday.  _

Dan almost hurls his phone across the room. She pulled out the damned  _ Lilith  _ card? He knew he had made a mistake when he signed up to this Lilith shit. Now he has to do what she says? And after she was such a twat, too? His hand flubbers over his phone. 

[Dan|21:09] _ fuck u and ur cake _

Clicking his phone off, he tosses it somewhere on the other end of the couch as he leans back and groans into his hands. 

“Cat bothering you?” 

“You have no idea.” 

***

Next morning, they prepare to go to the museum.

“Dan,” Phil calls, “what do you think we’d need?”

He hears Dan’s muffled voice from the other room, but can’t make out any words. As he pokes his head into Dan’s monochrome room, he’s immediately buffeted backwards as Dan crashes into him. A hand firmly slaps onto Phil’s forearm, and he’s snapped back upwards in Dan’s warm grasp.

“Woah there,” Dan breathes, flicking concerned eyes up to Phil’s widened ones. Phil errantly wonders if Dan can feel his heartbeat thrumming underneath his grip. “You alright?” Dan smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s a layer of remorse hidden beneath the amber depths. 

Finally, Phil finds the right words, “I-I’m fine. Thanks.” He offers a smile back and hopes it’s not as plastered as it feels.

“Alright,” Dan releases Phil’s wrist. Phil is frustrated with the sense of loss he feels. Dan is his friend. He shouldn’t be having these problematic feelings.  _ Dan is like a brother to me, _ he tries to aggressively confirm. But the word has his heart twisting and his stomach knotting, a bitter taste flooding his mouth. Because he had never thought of Dan as a brother. He was always his best friend. And it seemed  _ wrong _ to think of him as a brother. It just didn’t sit right with him. His stomach churns with the thought.

Because is it weird to notice things in your best friend that a normal friend wouldn’t? If his heart races when Dan’s chocolate eyes light up with glee? When his heart aches if Dan gets that crushed look on his face, a look filled with gloom, when his face crumples with tragedy and loss? He would trade anything to snap Dan out of his depressed moods, but he knows it isn’t that simple. It’s never that simple. 

Dan has always been subconsciously attractive in Phil’s mind. It certainly wouldn’t take long for feelings to catch. 

He’s whipped, he decides. He’s starting to fall for his best friend. He’s starting to fall for his best friend, who’s most likely straight, and it’s  _ simply not fair. _

“—il. Phil. Phil? Ya there?”

“Huh?”

“Bloody hell, I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past few minutes. Where did that creative mind go?” Dan waves a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry, I—erm. Lost in thought,” Phil chuckles nervously.

Dan pauses, and for an absurd moment, Phil thinks Dan has read his mind. Heart jolting in his chest, his stomach jumps. But then Dan speaks, “Okay, I was just saying, I don’t think we really need anything but ourselves. For the trip?”

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

“Phil, are you alright?” 

_ No. I'm catching feelings for my best friend and it's going to ruin our relationship. Did I also mention he’s possibly straight? Not to assume, but- _

Dan places a hand on his forehead. Phil visibly flinches, and Dan’s eyes widen, a flicker of hurt passing through them.

“I’m fine, Dan.”

Lying is easy. Lying could work. Lying won't hurt like the truth. 

**End of Part 2**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and kudos/comments!! They are always appreciated :D  
> tumblr @ bluejazzberrys  
> cya next wed


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night at the museum ft jealous boi danyul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooo sorry for the late update. being stuck in a unmoving plane (delayed flight) for a whole day is not fun... and I'm in a different time zone now.   
> In other news, my college is starting but hopefully I'll still find time to update  
> enjoy!

They sit in the back of the coach bus. The seats are plushy beneath them as the bus rumbles to a start. As soon as Dan plops down, his eyes become heavy. Phil sighs lengthily next to him and starts to lean against the rattling window. His eyes fall shut soon enough. 

“Phil, d’you want to use my shoulder…?” Dan asks tentatively. He doesn't know why he asked; it just slipped out. 

Phil’s eyes widen, “You’re sure?”

“I mean, it would be more comfortable… a-and the window is more uh—” fuck, why does he always forget words in under Phil’s keen, ocean gaze, “—rickety. I mean, the window is uncomfortable, basically, you know?” he rambles. A strong desire to slap himself overcomes him. 

Phil just smiles though, murmuring a soft, “Thanks,” as he settles against Dan’s shoulder. Hoping Phil can't feel his pulse against the swell of his collarbone, Dan stares blankly out the window - landscape slipping by - and wonders if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

***

The dragon dream takes a different turn today. Since Dan knows that Phil isn't human, he applies his knowledge:

“Haven't you ever thought of using your magic in my dreams?”

Phil narrows his eyes, “ _ My  _ dreams? Mate, this dream is mine.”

Dan frowns, “What d’you mean it’s yours? You’re just a figment of my imagination. This is  _ my _ dream.” 

“Dan, you’re a figment of  _ my _ imagination. I’ve been having these damn dragon visions for years.”

Dan’s eyes widen, “ _ Years?!  _ And all this time, you’ve never thought of using your  _ magic?! _ ”

Phil gawkes at him, seemingly dumbfounded and maybe even offended. At last, he stutters, “I-I suppose I can try.”

Dan suppresses a snort as Phil drops the sword, which makes a heavy  _ thump _ in the sand. He’s surprised it doesn't whizz away with the loosely shifting granules, and wonders if Phil is actually strong enough to carry a heavy sword like that in real life.

Then Phil moves forwards a few steps and squares his broad shoulders. It happens in a flash. Phil’s body snaps in an ancient pose, powerful water cyclones thrusting around him, knocking into the feral beast. Mesmerized by his movements, Dan gapes as Phil manages to take down the enraged beast in waves and waves of water cyclones and hefty thrusts. Phil's movements are almost graceful, executed like a dance performance instead of a fierce fight. Although, his movements do not lack whatsoever in ferocity; Phil’s pale, rippling muscles and lithe frame has Dan feeling a little out of breath.

After the beast disintegrates—with another horrifying roar that has unpleasant shivers crawling up Dan’s spine—Phil leans over his knees, breathless. 

“What… the hell?” He gasps, “I could've… done that… this… whole  _ time _ ?!”

“What can I say, Phil,” Dan stands besides him, hands on his hips, a wide grin spreading proudly on his face, “you’re a little slow up here, aren't ya?” He gestures to his head. 

“Watch what you say, Danny,” Phil huffs before smiling, “You’ll be next to go down with that bloody dragon.” 

Dan giggles as he dodges a faux punch from Phil.

***

Words are droning from the front of the bus, rippling to the back to Dan’s fogged mind. He's warm. Fluffy. Safe. Secure. The bus is rolling. Then there’s a tap on his shoulder, “Hey. You might wanna wake up.” Gruff. Smooth. A new voice. “We’re almost there.” 

Reluctantly, Dan opens his eyes and blearily observes students shuffling in their seats, their excited chatter filling the air. Then he realizes Phil has thrown personal space out the window—he’s wrapped around Dan like a koala bear. His right arm is clutching Dan’s waist, and a few pale fingers tease the bottom of his shirt. Dan’s breath catches. Well, he's wide awake now. 

“Phil,” he whispers, “Phil, wake up.” 

Phil’s arms tighten further around Dan’s body, a stubborn-sounding, “Mmph,” resonating from his mouth. Dan’s heart rate spikes as warm heat rushes through his blood. But he doesn't have time to recover. The bus jolts suddenly, and Phil’s mouth is pressed against the juncture of his shoulders and neck, which elicits a sharp gasp to rip from Dan’s lips. He’s torn between shoving Phil off and pushing him closer.

“ _ Phil _ ,” he says with more urgency, heart thumping in his rib-cage. He wonders if Phil can feel it. Phil mumbles something then, but Dan can't hear it as blood rushes in his ears; every slight movement of Phil’s burning mouth has him shuddering in his seat. Dan bites his lip to hold in the moan that's threatening to bubble out. 

“Philll,” he hopes his voice isn't as whiny as it sounds as he shakes Phil with more force, finally managing to pry them apart. 

At last, Phil opens his eyes when the bus rolls to a full-stop, “Wha—?” 

“For fucks’ sake,” Dan breathes as he springs up on unsteady legs. He grips the back-rest of the seat in front of him, fingertips turning white, and pointedly aims his gaze towards the gray dashboard so that his infuriating blush is hidden. But Phil’s soft groan has him involuntarily turning his head back. 

His eyes bulge as Phil stretches because  _ goddamn.  _ He tries not to focus on the arch of his back or the flex of his arms or the unfair tightness of his animated t-shirt as it rolls up just the slightest inch, exposing a pale stripe of skin. Sure, Phil might not be the most muscular man on the planet, but he's still  _ fit _ . 

Trying to steady his breathing, Dan whips his head back to stare intently at the gray dashboard, lest Phil catches his wandering eyes. The brunette who had presumably tapped his shoulder— _ James _ , Dan recalls—sends him waggly eyebrows and a cheeky smirk. Was he that obvious? The blond hunk sitting next to James smacks his shoulder in playful reprimand. 

Dan’s eyes narrow, and he’s about to retort something—he doesn't know what—but sweat breaks out on his skin and his vision begins to blur. Unbearable heat pulls tightly inside his gut. Fucking hell. Not now. _Not_ _now_. He scrambles for his bag—where is it, where is it, where is it—ah! There it is. His hand snatches the bar up, tearing it open with a satisfying crumple. The chocolate melts in his mouth. He hums as his body fills with relief and a wave of pleasure satiates his brimming hunger. 

Not for the first time, he reminds himself,  _ you’re not attracted to Phil. It's the bloody incubus. _

***

“You’re not a vampire, are you?” Phil asks as they walk towards the entrance of the museum. Dan could be vampire because he's never seen Dan eat a proper meal. But he already knows Dan’s not a vampire; he’s felt Dan’s heart beat against his own at some point in his life, goddamnit. Still, he can’t help guessing… he’s been curious about Dan’s classification ever since yesterday. What kind of demon type could be  _ that  _ embarrassing?

“Nope,” Dan murmurs after glancing around to ensure they’re not being eavesdropped upon.

A light snow begins to fall, and it dots along the crown of Phil’s raven hair. The cold bites their cheeks and the road is darkened and wet. Phil notices Dan’s keeping his gaze glued to the ground, where small flakes are melting into the asphalt.

His cheeks are red and his breath swirls out in misty puffs. Phil can't help but notice how adorable he looks with snowflakes settling on his curls. He restrains himself from running his hands through Dan’s hair to ruffle them off. His chest surges when he notices the blood-red color of Dan’s full lips and has to stop his mind from going further, because he’s not allowed to have thoughts like that about his  _ friend _ . 

“But you never eat,” Phil mumbles, and then immediately regrets it; his heart wrenches when he sees the light drain out of Dan’s usually vibrant eyes. All Phil wants to do is pull his hunched body to his chest as Dan starts speaking. 

-

“I don't have much of an appetite, usually.” Something tightens in Dan’s chest. Lying to Phil is never easy. He still yearns to eat real food sometimes, but he knows it's futile. He’s able to eat small meals, sure, but anything more than a few mouthfuls has him praying to the porcelain bowl. 

“I see…” Phil’s voice is soft. Understanding. As if it’s perfectly normal for someone to abandon food almost entirely. Dan bites his lip, _He knows._ _He’ll know I'm an incubus._ His heart thuds in his chest. 

“I mean, don't get me wrong; I love food,” Dan continues, finally meeting Phil’s intent eyes. He’s close enough to see the flecks of green and gold blend in with the pale blue irises. They’re sparkling in the bright light reflecting off of the silver blanket of snow. 

The white marble steps leading to the entrance are shiny underneath the thump of their feet. Two intricate columns stand on either side of the large, embellished double-doors. As they enter the rather posh-looking building, Dan fumbles, “I just…food is like… food… I’m not able to—” 

“Alright, students! Get with your partners now - we’re running a little behind schedule,” Professor Craft glances at her watch. 

Dan silently thanks whatever deity up there for saving him, because he had no idea how that sentence was going to end. He still feels Phil’s gaze boring into him, though. He ignores it.

The students huddle together in their bundled-up coats and mufflers. A low drone of curious murmuring echoes in the high-ceilinged room. Once Professor Craft explains the rules, they break into conspiratorial chatter. 

“What happens if we win?” A red-haired, freckled boy asks.

“Well, you’ll just have to find out, won't you?” There's a twinkle in Professor Craft’s gray eyes.

PJ and Chris suddenly appear next to them, “I know you’re my friend, Phil, but don't expect me to go easy on you,” PJ smiles, his forest eyes glowing competitively. 

“As if you’ll need to,” Phil scoffs, returning his side-eye. He's missed having PJ as a roommate these past few months, but he wouldn’t give anything in the world to trade him back for Dan. His heart plunges with the realization. 

“Oh, have you two been studying hard this weekend?” Chris interrupts cheekily. 

Dan and Phil share a look, and then Dan says, “I reckon it’s better than what you two’ve been up to.” 

PJ and Chris promptly turn a telling shade of red. Gasping, Dan pops a hand over his mouth as his eyebrows fly up; he hadn’t been expecting a reaction like  _ that. _ Phil, meanwhile, is affronted, “Peej?!” He thwacks a hand on PJ’s bicep, “Have you been hiding something from me?” 

“What?” PJ, face glowing red, avoids his eyes, “I—I have no idea what you’re going on about, Philip.” 

“Peej, I can tell when you’re lying; you’re terrible at it,” Phil deadpans, “You are telling me everything after this, okay? We need to catch up.”

“Christ, Phil,” Chris huffs, face matching PJ’s in shade. 

They break off after Phil forces PJ to promise him about the catching-up, and after a few competitive huffs and shoulder-nudges, the race begins. 

The museum is huge, designed like an orthodox mansion with medieval decor. It almost has an eerie feel to it. 

“It's kinda creepy in here, don't ya think?” Dan whispers as they enter a dark room filled with stony statues. Their smooth faces are grim and their chiseled bodies are rigid. They look like they’ve undergone some tumultuous tragedy as they’re huddled together like a funeral processing. Suddenly the lights flicker on, and Dan flinches, his hand flying to Phil’s bicep. 

“Fuck!” His heart races. 

Phil giggles, “It’s just the lights, Dan. C’mon I don't think anything’s in this room anyway.”

Dan’s hand treacherously lingers on Phil’s bicep; it's unexplainable soft and firm at the same time. His hand, having a mind of its own, must grope Phil for a moment too long, because Phil says lowly, “Feel something you like?” 

_ Yes.  _ Dan’s brain catches up to his actions and his breath hitches in his lungs. His hand rips away like it’s been burned, “Wh-what? No, I was just… scared,” he finishes lamely, face burning. He turns his head away so that Phil can't see his blush. 

“Right… scared.” Phil’s tone is so skeptical that it almost pains him to hear. Dan curses himself internally.  _ Fucking uncontrollable limbs. Fucking incubus.  _

They tip-toe into the next room, where the walls are peach-colored and lined with paintings. Most of them are abstract, with odd shapes and figures jutting out of more odd shapes and figures. Dan is intrigued as he shuffles up to a monochrome one. 

“Found something?” Phil murmurs as he glances up from an abstract painting. 

“No… I just… Hey, doesn't that look like a dragon to you?” 

Phil walks over, and Dan immediately feels his body heat seep to his back. He errantly wonders if Phil understands the concept of personal space, because when he speaks, his warm breath tickles the shell of Dan’s ear, and Dan has to ignore the tug of heat in his stomach. Maybe he needs more chocolate. Yup, he definitely needs more chocolate. 

“I can kind of see it, yeah.” Dan soon realizes Phil must’ve been mulling over his superhuman classification this whole time, because Phil muses, “You’re probably… something dream-related. You keep coming in my dreams.” 

Dan’s eyes narrow, “I thought you told me you had no recollection of those dragon dreams.”

Sheepish, Phil scratches the back of his neck with an index finger, “Ah, well that’s because er- I didn’t want to out myself as a dragon.”

“Is that what you are, then?” Dan asks, his gaze glued to the shimmery scales of a painting in front of them. 

“A dragon? Figured you’d know by now,” Phil murmurs, “But yes,” he confirms, “I am a dragon-heir.” After a pause, he mumbles, hesitant, “And you?”

Dan huffs out a long sigh, before resorting to his original plan, “Take a guess,” he turns around so that they’re facing each other and crosses his arms.

“Well,” Phil pauses, “like I said before,” a flicker of a smirk plays on the corner of his lip, “you  _ do _ keep coming in my dreams. Rather odd, I’d say.”

The way Phil had drawled  _ you keep coming in my dreams  _ has Dan choking on his spit and abruptly blooming scarlet.

“What?” Phil blinks, genuinely confused. But Dan can tell by the way his widened eyes are gleaming too innocently and by his sly smile—it's anything but innocent.

“You shit, you know  _ exactly  _ what.” Phil giggles in response and taps a finger against his bottom lip. It does something weird to Dan’s breathing pattern. 

“Maybe you’re a dream-thief or something.” Gasping, Phil’s eyes widen, “Like an elf! They can manipulate dreams.” Shaking his head, Phil sinks back, “No, wait, but I’d be able to tell by your ears… and besides, why would you be embarrassed if you were an elf?” 

Dan chuckles, “Not an elf,” and they start to trek around the museum. 

Phil clicks his tongue, “Thought so.”

After a pause, Dan speaks up, “Hey, how are water dragons formed, anyway?” They’re walking side by side, shoulders brushing together agonizingly every few moments.  

“Well,” Phil starts slowly, “y’know when a literal water dragon and a human get down and dirty, they—”

“No fucking way.”

“I'm serious!”

Dan looks at Phil to see if he’s actually telling the truth. His crystal eyes are earnest and his eyebrows are raised.  _ No fucking way _ , Dan repeats internally. “You can't be serio—what, really?” 

“Yes!”

“Y’know, Phil, you’re a really bad liar.” 

“I'm telling the truth,” Phil’s tone overflows with so much sincerity that Dan finds himself believing it. “And, as El once said, friends don’t lie, right?”

Dan’s mind is reeling so fast that it blips over the  _ Stranger Things  _ reference, “No! It can't be true. Dragons don't even exist.” 

“Are you sure about that?” 

Dan stops in his tracks. Phil continues walking. He's a few steps ahead of him when he turns around to look back at Dan, who’s standing in the empty hallway with a hanging jaw, “You’re telling me dragons are real?” A few months ago, Dan would've never believed that dragons existed. After being exposed to the superhuman realm and placed inside a living hell—now he's not so sure. 

“You’ve seen one in your—in  _ our _ —dreams, right?”

“What the hell.” Dan blinks, mystified, “I need to see one, like, right now. In real life. What the fuck?!” 

Then Phil bursts in a fit of giggles, echoing in the corridor. He can barely speak around his laughter and his face turns red with exertion, “Y-your face omigod. You’re so gullible.” Phil’s laughter rings loud and clear. Dan’s fists clench, stomach surging. But, to his frustration, he finds himself smiling because Phil’s laughter is contagious. And it’s hard to stay angry at Phil. Especially when he’s laughing so whole-heartedly. 

“You bastard! I believed you too!” He smacks Phil’s shoulder. 

“I-I know!” Phil wheezes.

“You fucking snek.” 

Phil’s hand presses against his chest, “Whoo. You gotta admit, I got you good though.”

Dan rolls his eyes, “ _ Fine _ , you shit-head. Yeah, got me good. Proud of yourself?” 

“Yes,” Phil grins, “very.” Clearing his throat, he continues, “so dragon-heirs originated from a clan of dragon hunters who ate the last hunted dragon to exist.” 

Dan’s eyebrows raise, “Damn. Was it a water dragon?”

“In my case,” Phil glances at a painting of Rivera’s, “yes.”

Dan hums, “Cool.” He almost feels like it’s unfair for Phil to reveal stuff about his superhuman identity when Dan can’t tell him a single thing about his own. It’s definitely unfair, so he simply changes the topic, “Anyway, we shooting for first place? We gotta beat Peej and Chris, at least.” 

Phil grins wickedly, and Dan ignores the feeling of his heart skipping. “That we do. Where shall we start?”  Dan is relieved Phil doesn’t notice the topic change. Or if he does, he certainly doesn’t mention it, bless him.

***

After an hour of searching, Dan starts to get frustrated, “I mean how hard can it be? This is basically like a giant escape room. I've done escape the rooms before, and they weren't this hard.” 

“You sure about that? They were hard for  _ me _ .” 

Dan deadpans.

“What?” 

 “Couldn't you have said that literally  _ any _ other way?” 

Phil pauses, mulling over the statement in his head, and then a grin breaks over his features as he shakes his head, “Look, that’s just you and your dirty mind. I didn't mean it in that way.” 

“Sure,” Dan drawls.

Phil huffs, “Fine. Escape rooms were… difficult for me—better?”

“I guess,” Dan snickers, “and, yeah—we’ve established this—it's cuz you’re a dumbass, remember?” 

“Hey!” Phil pushes Dan’s shoulder, but mirth swims in his eyes, “I don't recall establishing that at all.” 

“Oh really? Must’ve been established my mind then. Hm, I wonder why,” Dan muses cheekily. 

Phil opens his mouth to retaliate, but then abruptly stumbles over his own foot and hurdles forward. Dan gapes in confused horror as he watches Phil’s hand fly to the banister of an elegantly curved staircase. They hear a click sound, and then a piece of paper falls from a gap in the stairs. A stunned silence envelopes them. 

Phil breathes heavily, fingertips white from clutching onto the banister for dear life. He glances back at Dan, “You… were… saying?” 

Dan clacks his mouth shut, pointing a shaky finger at him, “That—! Doesn't count! You just tripped over your own two feet, you dingus.” 

Phil plants a hand on his hip, “Um, actually, I totally did that on purpose, Dan. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Dan can't help the smile that twitches on his lips as he rolls his eyes, “For fucks’ sake, you - hurry up and read the paper before someone else sees.” 

“Alright, alright, your highness.” Rolling his eyes, Phil unfolds the crinkled paper. The words are scrawled in a neat cursive: 

 

_ Hey hey hey, if you’re reading this, congrats! Now let's see if you’ve been paying attention in class… Who is Professor Craft’s favorite artist (of all time)? _

 

“What?”

“This is impossible,” Dan sighs, crossing his arms. 

Phil hums, “Maybe we can just… ask her?”

Dan scoffs, “Like she’d tell us.” 

“I mean, it wouldn't hurt to ask.”

“Yeah… alright, fine, but you’re asking.”

Phil hesitates, “Alright, Fine.”

They drift towards the main lobby. A few minutes later, they hear voices rippling back to them—hushed whispers with promises of answers. Phil perks up, tuning his ears in to their conversation. He’s barely able to catch a soft  _ … -ut what about Van Gogh? _

“Hey, Phil—” Dan starts.

“Shh!” Phil’s hand flies to Dan’s mouth. Dan’s eyebrow furrows and Phil can feel the shape of Dan’s frown beneath his hand. 

When the voices get closer, Phil backs Dan up to the wall so they’re hidden. Then Phil feels it: the warm, wet sensation of Dan’s tongue licking a fat stripe of skin up his palm. Grimacing, Phil rips his hand away, “ _ Dan!  _ What the hell?” he whisper-yells as he wipes it on the material of his clothes. His face feels hot. 

“Why are we hiding, you idiot?” Dan’s breath is warm against his face. Wrinkling his nose, he comments, “Ew, your hand is freakin’ salty, mate.”

“Not as salty as you,” Phil shoots back. Dan opens his mouth to respond, but Phil interrupts, “Shhh! We need to hide ‘cuz maybe they’ve found something else.”

Phil watches Dan’s mouth shape into an  _ o _ .  _ Dan’s lips are so pink _ , the thought involuntarily pops into Phil’s mind. And Phil’s breath catches when he sees a pink tongue swipe against the fullness of his bottom lip. Phil drags his eyes away from the seemingly innocent gesture as Dan’s eyebrows raise conspiratorially, “You’re spying on them?” 

Phil deadpans, but doesn't respond because he can hear their speech clearly now. Dan murmurs something about being a sneaky snek, but he blocks out his voice so that he can hear the mystery speakers. Their voices filter down the hall clearly. 

“No! Steve, I remember her saying it was Van Gogh.” 

Dan gasps, eyes alighting. Phil presses a finger to his own mouth,  _ stay quiet.  _

Another voice speaks, apparently ‘Steve,’ “It says  _ of all time _ . She said Van Gogh was her favorite when she was first learning Impressionism.” 

“Oh yeah…” 

“Wait, I  _ know  _ this. I remember her mentioning it in class.” 

“Oh babe, you know why  _ I  _ wasn't paying attention in class,” the first voice drawls, innuendo thick in his tone. 

“Shut up Buck, this is no time for flirting.” 

‘Buck’ groans, “But you’re so  _ hot _ when you’re deep in thought.” 

There's a heated gasp, and Phil glances around the corner to see a blond hunk pinned against the wall by a broad-shouldered brunette. It’s  _ James _ . James is ‘Buck’? Phil’s eyes go wide, and Dan muffles a giggle into his hand. 

“I got it!” James exclaims. “Fuck, what was that cubism guy’s name?”

They hear Steve groan, “ _ Bucky _ , and here I thought you were gonna fuck me in public.”

“Unlike you, I’m not an exhibitionist.”

“It's Picasso,” Dan murmurs under his breath. 

Phil frowns, “What?” 

Dan swallows, looking nervously towards the other two boys, and then tries speaking a little louder, “The cubism guy? It's Picasso.” 

Phil’s eyes widen as it gets deathly quiet. Did they hear them? The pin-drop silence suffocates them. No one breathes. 

“Run,” Phil’s voice is urgent, and then they hear a breathy moan. Choking, Dan trips, but Phil catches him and yanks him back up to his chest. Dan, face bright red, wonders if Phil can feel his heart racing. 

“I didn't think they’d actually go for it,” he breathes. 

“Neither did I,” Phil chuckles, basking in the feeling of Dan pressed into him. 

They hear more heated gasps, and wet smacking, and Dan whispers frantically, “Let’s go solve this Picasso thing, before-” he cuts himself off. Phil nods curtly. They scurry out of there, hearts thrumming in their chests the whole way. 

Once they’re finally an appropriate distance away, Phil braces himself on his knees, gasping, “Where are we going?” 

Dan is breathless next to him, “Uh. Well this room is conveniently named,” Dan gestures to the golden plate next to the oaken door. The plate reads  _ Master of Cubism: Picasso _ . 

Phil nods, and they head into the room with some trepidation. Once they enter, they’re bombarded with pieces of Picasso’s art. They scan over rows and rows of abstract constructions, ranging from brilliantly colored to black and white.

-

“Hey look at this,” Phil murmurs. Dan stops short.  _ El Guernica  _ is scrawled in golden cursive underneath the monochrome masterpiece _.  _

“What about it? I mean, I'm sure there's a shit-ton of symbolism, but—”

“No, I mean look at  _ this _ ,” Phil moves the corner of the art piece, and it shifts against the wall. 

Dan frowns, “Maybe… all the paintings are like that…?” 

Phil shakes his head, “I tested the other paintings too. Only this one moves… there's probably something under it.” 

Phil straightens up to his full height grips the painting. After a few moments of struggling, it’s pulled off, and Dan’s gasp echoes in the room. 

There's a simple, nine-digit keypad pressed into the wall. The password is five-digits, as shown with the five empty spaces on its pale green face. 

“Ah,” Phil marvels softly. 

Dan’s chest surges and he feels a rush of giddy, childlike excitement pump through his veins; he loves a good puzzle, “Okay, how do we figure out the code?” 

“Maybe there's another clue around somewhere,” Phil smooths a hand over his jaw as he steps back to scan over the room. Dan mirrors his actions. 

There's just paintings and cubes and some more colorful abstract shapes, for the most part. His shoulders slump with defeat, “Phil, nothing’s here.” As he whirls back around to face Phil, though, he notices small text scrawled into the back of the frame of  _ El Guernica _ . 

Dan paws Phil’s shoulder distractedly, “Was that always there or were we just too dumb to notice?” 

Phil’s distracted gaze follows his direction and his eyes widen. 

There, written in neat cursive, reads: 

 

_ Oh have I missed you so _

_ The steady weight  _

_ Upon my arm _

_ A glance away _

_ Reflected light gleams _

_ Catches my eye _

_ Just a beam _

_ Time for goodbye _

 

_ Alas, _

_ Abandoned  _

_ Set aside  _

_ Put away _

_ Now I have _

_ No choice  _

_ But to stay _

 

_ Without you _

_ Time is false _

_ Irrelevant  _

_ Your gaze _

_ Intelligent  _

_ Your face  _

_ Will dictate  _

_ My fate. _

 

_ What is it? _

 

“Ooh, my dragon senses are tingling,” Phil’s eyes are blazing blue. 

Dan snorts, “You like poetry?”

“It's kind of a riddle, innit?”

“Right. Well, we can start with  _ a steady weight upon my arm _ —I thought it could be a lover’s hand or something, and the gleam is probably a ring?”

“Yeah I thought that too at first,” Phil crosses his arms, and then uncrosses them, “but why the  _ time for goodbye _ ? That sounds kinda ominous, doesn't it?”

“I mean, maybe their lover was dying or something bad happened…” Dan sighs as he crushes his index finger and thumb over his nose, “I dunno Phil.” 

Phil takes a breath and his eyes spark with determination as they skim over the next stanza, “ _ Set aside, put away…  _ you don't really set aside a  _ person _ .” 

Dan gasps, “Wait! The code—it's only five digits. Maybe it's ‘lover.’”

Phil shrugs, “No harm in trying.”

Dan moves to input the word as Phil continues squinting at the riddle.

The screen flashes red three times, and then in boxy letters, it reads  _ one attempt remaining. _ “Wha-that's not fair!” Dan exclaims as his stomach drops.  

“What?” Phil looks over his shoulder and sees the message, “Oh.” His breath puffs over Dan’s ear. Dan ignores the way his heart flips in his chest.  _ Damned incubus.  _

“How could we have known we’d only have two guesses? And why  _ two?  _ Isn't it usually three? What the fuck.” 

“It's okay, I think I've got it Danny,” Phil rubs his hands together as Dan continues frowning at the mockingly elegant cursive print.

“Well, what is it then?” Dan huffs as he crosses his arms. 

Phil claps his hands, “A wristwatch! ‘ _ Without you time is false, irrelevant…’  _ and ‘ _ a steady weight upon my arm’ _ ? It has to be!” His eyes are sparkling sapphire. Dan blinks owlishly as the realization dawns over him. Phil's grin widens into a smirk when he sees that Dan is evidently dumbfounded, and he can't stop himself from purring, “Who's the dumbass now, hm?” 

Dan’s face blooms a dark peony as a spark of electricity shudders down his spine; Phil’s using  _ that voice _ . The voice that sends his heart skittering, the voice that weakens his knees.  _ The fucking wet-dream voice. _ “You sure that’s the one, Phil? We only have one attempt left, y’know,” Dan croaks. To his mortification, Phil’s smirk seems to widen when he hears the broken state of Dan’s voice. Damnit, the self-aware maniac. 

Phil’s cerulean orbs are sparkling with something Dan can’t quite place. “Well, what else can it be? Just admit it: I’m a genius.” Crossing his arms, Phil puffs up his chest.

Dan huffs a short laugh, “Fucks’ sake,” he rolls his eyes, “Phil Lester, you're a genius. Is your self esteem satisfied now?” 

“Yeet,” Phil giggles, tongue poking between his lips. Dan looks away as his heart somersaults in his chest.

After Dan reinputs the letters for  _ watch  _ with Phil breathing down his back, they hear a soft  _ click _ and then the wall starts to shake. Dan’s heart batters in his throat as he jumps into Phil, grabbing onto him for dear life, “What the fuck?!” 

Phil wraps his arms around him reflexively, “Dan. Calm down, it's a secret room!” 

“I—” Dan's breath is stolen as the peach walls open up to make way for another room. It's dimly lit as the only light source comes from the lines and lines of flickering candles. The walls are wooden and there's an embellished, wooden table in the center of the room. An oaken almirah is pressed to a wall. A large mirror extends out of its mahogany structure. 

Then Dan realizes that he's properly embracing Phil right now, and—more importantly—Phil is embracing him  _ back _ . He can feel the length of Phil’s warm body pressed against him, and no—he's not marveling at how perfect they fit together like puzzle pieces, and no—he's not wondering if it's meant to be, and no—he's not admiring how  _ good _ and  _ warm  _ and  _ delicious _ it all feels. And no no no  _ no _ . 

He rips out of their tangled limbs before he starts to feel the inevitable, tingling electricity. Phil doesn't seem bothered by it, however. If he does, he hides it well behind guarded eyes. Dan gets an absurd urge to apologize, but it dissolves as Phil strides into the dark room. After a beat, Dan trails after him, and then they hear a crackly voice over an intercom. It sounds oddly like Professor Craft, “Hello my dearies! Welcome.” 

The door slams shuts behind them with a finalized  _ thud _ . Dan’s hazel eyes lock with Phil’s teal ones in the low lighting.  _ No going back.  _

Then the voice booms, “You are on the final stage! Yay!” From their lack of enthusiasm, the voice reiterates, “Oh… tired, are we? Yes, this must've been pretty tiring, now that I—oh whatever. Now you're here.” The speaker pauses to take a breath, “The last stage is a small quiz. Kind of like a best friends quiz… or… a couples quiz.” The shit-eating grin in the speaker’s voice is painfully audible.

Dan thinks he sees Phil freeze in his peripheral vision, but he's not sure. Admittedly, their teacher is a little crazy, though, so a small bubble of dread starts building when she mentions the  _ couple _ part of it. 

“Now, I'll start easy and the questions will get progressively harder. Ready boys?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! tylybbs  
> tumblr @ bluejazzberrys


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i still get jealous~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii college (some of y'all call it university) started and im sad cuz it's so big and lonely ;-;  
> but i can't really complain cuz it's a really nice campus soo :')  
> enjoy!

“What—I!” Phil splutters, “It's not my fault!” 

“Couldn't you have just guessed? Why did you have to say ‘I dunno’?!”

“So you wanted me to just  _ guess _ ? Are you out of your freakin’ mind?” 

“No. She’s fuck’n out of her goddamn mind. This is goddamned rigged!” Dan’s face is red with anger, and maybe some embarrassment—but he's not ready to admit that to himself yet. “Why the hell—what kind of questions were those? What the fuck is that bloody person into?” 

“I'm pretty sure that question is just… not allowed, either,” Phil agrees. His face is a dusted a light shade of pink, “I'm sorry, I don't do well under pressure.”

“It's okay, Phil. I'm not angry at you,” Dan places a hand on his shoulder, “Let's face it—the question was unfair; how are you supposed to know about my kinks?” Shaking his head, Dan aims his gaze away, “And honestly… she probably doesn't know the answer either.” 

Phil chokes on his spit, face exploding red, “Wh-what is that supposed to mean?” 

Because Dan and Phil had been doing well; they were almost going to win. Even though some questions made them blush, and others made them laugh, and a few more made them squirm, the last question was just down-right awful. 

Dan can still hear it echo mockingly in his head, “...wonderful! You dears might actually win, now. Just one more question, though,” Dan’s chest had tightened; he could practically  _ hear  _ the smirk in their voice, “Last one, Philip, what are Dan’s kinks?” She had said it with such casual ease that Dan thought he had misheard. 

“I beg your pardon?” Dan sputtered. But to his horror, he had indeed heard correctly. 

After a pregnant pause, in which Dan’s face was morphed into a scowl and Phil’s face was tinged red, Phil had finally blurted out, “You… want me to list all of them?” to which Dan had promptly started hacking rather loudly, because how did Phil just  _ know _ he had more than one? Or two? Or three?

And then after some intense eye contact, which had tingles erupting all over Dan’s skin, Phil had finally blurted out a helpless, “I dunno!” as his face burned beet-red. 

Needless to say, they had lost the competition. But to their  _ absolute pleasure  _ (read: sarcasm), PJ and Chris had won. Currently, they’re grinning proudly into Professor Craft’s camera as they sign certificates.  _ Certificates _ —how extra can she be? 

Dan pouts the whole way back on the bus, softly complaining that the game was rigged and unfair and it's not fair, Phil, why should that even be a question? Is this allowed? This is an invasion of privacy. Fucking rigged, this is. For fucks’ sake, Phil, just—it was unfair, okay?

Phil, on the other hand, doesn't mind as much. Like the professor had said at the end, “It's okay if you didn't win anything. The point is that you still had fun in the museum and were still able to learn something—about me, about each other—” and at that point, she had sent a wink in their direction, and Dan had practically growled as his fists clenched, and he started muttering about the unfairness of it all over again. 

As the bus rumbles on, Dan’s gaze lingers on PJ and Chris and the ice cream coupons clutched in their hands. 

“I can't believe the prize was free ice creams.” 

“Don't be so grumpy; we can still get some ice cream.” 

“But it won't be the same, Phil,” Dan cries dramatically. 

“I’m sure they’ll taste the same,” Phil chuckles.

“No, you don’t understand,” huffing, Dan continues sending death-glares to the winning couple.

“It's December anyway, Dan. Why would you want ice cream?”

“So what?” Dan squaks, crossing his arms, “Ice cream is ice cream.”

“Wow,” Phil raises an eyebrow, “I would've never guessed.” 

“Fuck off.” 

The bus is toasty and pearly white snow flies by the wide windows, but all Phil can see is Dan’s stubborn face in front of the zooming backdrop. Phil can't help but think it positively adorable and he’s already unconsciously burnt the memory into his hard drive. The bus ride takes forever. By the time they’re back on campus, the sun has begun to set. 

They walk back to their apartment in comfortable silence, although Dan is still grumpy the whole way there. Dan's nose is red from the biting snowflakes. Phil can't help the small grin that twitches at his lips.

Finally, Phil sighs, “Let's go, Dan. I know a good Jen and Berry’s a few blocks away.” 

***

Dan has never really liked chocolate ice cream. Besides, it's only an ice cream, not a full-on meal… surely vanilla won't do much damage? It's barely considered a snack, let alone a meal. He doesn't think it'll make him supernaturally spew out his internal organs.

“So, you a vanilla guy, Phil?” 

Phil promptly turns a dark pink. Dan pauses, replaying the question in his head. His almond eyes widen before his own face erupts into a matching shade. 

It had sounded so much better in his head. And the events of the day really doesn't help the context. Without his permission, his brain decides to replay the question:  _ what are Dan’s kinks? _

“I—! Y-you know what I  _ meant!” _ Dan splutters, smacking his arm, before offhandedly muttering,  “goddamn, that question was traumatizing.”

Phil nods jerkily in agreement, amusement twinkling in the midnight eyes despite the light shade of pink flushing across high cheekbones, “Erm—well, to answer your question, no; cookie dough’s my favorite at the moment.” 

“Mm, yes, but I'm feeling more vanilla today,” Dan grins, keeping up with the running joke. He watches Phil’s face tint a darker shade of pink, and something within him curls up in satisfaction. 

“You’re not gonna live that one down, are you,” Phil deadpans as they arrive. Courtesy of the glass window on the door, there’s a rectangle of golden light splayed over the white blanket of snow outside - snow that crumbles as they step into it. As Phil pushes the door open, Dan spots Chris and PJ chattering in line. PJ glances up, a smile splitting across his face, which has Chris shifting around to catch them too. Dan isn’t sure if the feeling that floods through him is embarrassment or resentment—perhaps a mix of both. 

“Well, well, well,” PJ raises his eyebrows as they drag themselves over.

Dan barely restrains from rolling his eyes, but then Phil huffs, “I can’t believe you guys won.”

Chris grins, “Well, why not? We prepared ‘n everything.”

“Yeah, we didn’t know  _ that  _ type of preparation was necessary,” Dan shoots back scornfully.

“Even if you did,” PJ chuckles despite the blush that rushes to his face, “would you two have done anything about it?” Dan’s breath catches, a slice of heat running through him at the possibility, but luckily Phil is there to save the day—as always.

“Shut up, Peej,” Phil faux punches PJ’s bicep, “You have to fill me in on all the details.  _ Now _ .” Ah, deflection. That’s good. Good shit right there. Dan doesn’t know why he feels oddly warm. It’s probably the stuffiness of his winter coat. 

“Phil, don’t start,” waving the coupons in their faces, PJ declares, “I’m not telling you shit.”

Dan nearly growls as he reaches for the bright pink coupons, “Give it here. You don’t deserve them.”

“Oh, but we do,” PJ meets Chris’s sparkling eyes, “don’t we?”

“Eugh, gross.” Phil interrupts, “If you aren’t gonna tell me anything, Peej, you could at least have the decency to stop eye-fucking each other in our presence.”

Chris pops a hand over his fallen jaw; PJ is the one who recovers, “You’re just jealous you’re not getting any, Philly.”

“Damn,” Dan mutters under his breath, eyebrows raising.

Phil scoffs, “Trust me, if I wanted it, I’d get it.”

“Ariana Grande who?” Chris chimes in, drawing a collective laugh.

A few moments pass, in which the line moves forward a few steps. When they stop moving, PJ turns around, a twinkle in his green eyes. “Oh, come on, Phil,” he smirks. Phil furrows his eyebrows in question. “We all remember the sex beast you were a few years back. Where’d all that energy go?” Chris laughs as Phil tries to splutter out a response.

“Jeeesus, Peej,” Phil shakes his head as deep peony blossoms over his cheeks, “two people doesn’t make me a slut.”

“Umm,” Chris raises an eyebrow, “pretty sure it was more than just two, Ph-”

“Shh-shh no it wasn’t. It was- t’was just two.” Phil’s voice is comically desperate. 

PJ giggles, continuing his mortification spree, “I remember the mornings where I’d wake up to sounds of-” 

Blissfully, the cashier calls out, “Next!” at that very moment, saving Phil from heaps of embarrassment. Dan glances at Phil and notices the way his shoulders slacken, tension gone. For some reason—aside from all the curiosity burning in his chest—it makes Dan feel better; a small weight in his chest evaporates, solely because maybe Phil won’t judge him for being an incubus. Maybe. However, ignoring the fact that Dan now doesn’t know what to do with this information, he still manages to croak, “You sure you’re not the kinky one here, Phil?”

Phil smiles at him as he rolls his eyes, “Hey, at least it wasn’t  _ your  _ question, asshole.” Dan tries not to think about how he didn’t exactly answer the question. Deflection, back at it again. Damn.

“Next!”

They move up another space in line. Phil’s features morph into a plastered grin as he directs his attention towards the cashier, “Hello,” he chirps. 

“Hey there, what can I get you?” The cashier has a mop of dark hair, big eyes and big lips, and his honeyed skin is dotted with freckles. He's almost as tall as them, and his green eyes are bright and breathtaking. Dan thinks he resembles PJ’s and Phil’s love child, if they were to have one. Dan’s eyes flick down to the tag pinned on his breast-pocket.  _ Ethan _ , it reads. Dan’s breath catches. Something in the back of his mind is tingling. Something about Ethan is oddly familiar. Something about him screams caution. He’s sure he’s seen him somewhere before, by the nagging thoughts knocking around in his brain. He  _ knows  _ him. From where?

Dan watches Ethan’s forest eyes subtly rove up and down Phil’s body. Then Ethan has the gall to sink his teeth into his lower lip, and - is he batting his unnaturally long eyelashes? Surely not. Ethan’s not flirting with Phil, and Phil isn’t flirting back. Right? 

Something unidentifiable coils in Dan’s stomach, and he unconsciously bites his own lip. He doesn't realize he’s clenching his fists until he feels the prick of his nails on his palm. Alarmed, he glances down to see small crescent-shapes indents on the center of his palm. His head spins. 

“Dan?” Phil’s eyes are crystal-lake blue. He feels a soft pressure on his elbow, and he knows it's Phil’s way of asking the unheard,  _ you okay? _

When Dan responds affirmative a second too late, though, Phil frowns and his inquisitive gaze flicks down to Dan’s hand, which is currently suspended in the air, “What’s wrong?” Phil’s voice is as soft as the ice cream he’s holding. 

Dan immediately yanks his hand down and out of Phil’s sight, hoping his face isn't as warm as it feels, “Nothing, just… you wanna move so I can get my ice cream?”

“I already got yours,” Phil suddenly procures a cone of vanilla cream out of seemingly thin air. 

Dan pauses, a crease forming between his eyebrows, “Oh—okay.” For some reason, the weight on his shoulders is released. Why did the idea of talking to Ethan make him nauseated? Why didn't he notice when Phil ordered for him too? Was he too invested in Ethan's behavior? Why did Phil pay for him?  _ Why is Ethan so annoying?  _

Dan barely pays attention when Phil says his parting words to PJ and Chris. He’s only capable of murmuring a small, “G’bye,” because the troubling thoughts racing through his mind are too hard to ignore.

They’ve made their way outside by the time the question slips out of Dan's mouth, “You paid?” The snow crunches softly under their feet and the golden light of small shops filter onto the sparkling layers of fluff.

Phil's cerulean orbs widen slightly as his pink tongue swipes along a strip of cream. As he slowly licks the cream from bottom to top, his blue eyes lock with Dan’s widened ones. Swallowing hard, Dan forces himself to look forward once their gazes meet. His coat starts to feel a little overheated despite their surroundings. Dan focuses on the frosted snow clinging to the shrubbery lining the street, sparkling beneath the yellow-orange glow of the street lamps. 

“Yep,” Phil pops the p, “my treat. how d’you like your vanilla?” Phil shoots him waggly eyebrows, and it looks like neither one of them are living that inside joke down. Phil’s eyes flash amber in the lamplight of the street, and they're twinkling with reflections of the swirling snowflakes. 

Dan shrugs before taking another bite of his cone, “S’good. You know what vanilla’s like,” his lips twitch with a hint of a smile. “Or do you?” When Phil snorts in response, Dan nudges his arm, “Stop thinking about it like that, goddamnit. Eating anything vanilla flavored is never gonna be the same. Vanilla is canceled.”

“Very true,” Phil giggles, tongue slipping between his teeth in a way that screams adorable. Dan’s heart stutters, so he promptly shoves a large chunk of ice cream in his mouth. The effect is instantaneous; his head throbs and his eyes scrunch closed as he swallows the glob down.

“ _ Fuck,”  _ he hisses, “fuck. Brain freeze.  _ Brain freeze. _ ” 

He thinks he hears Phil, the traitor, chuckle somewhere nearby, “What did you expect?” That's definitely a smirk in Phil’s voice. “We’re eating ice cream in the middle of winter.”

Despite his teasing, a few moments later, Phil gently cradles Dan’s head in his hands so that he can smooth his thumbs over Dan’s temples. Dan hopes the frigid air disguises the deep crimson that floods to his face. Goddamn Phil and his ever-lacking awareness of personal space. 

“Does that even work?” Dan asks softly, afraid that his voice will snap them out of their delicate trance. Phil’s hands are so  _ warm _ and it's sending pleasant tingles through his shivering frame. 

“You tell me,” Phil’s puffs,  _ and when did he get so close?  _ Dan can see the aqua color of Phil’s eyes, blending into hues of pale green and silken gold. Dan’s eyes flutter shut as Phil presses his thumb into his pulsing temple, still adamantly massaging it. And although they’re in the middle of a blizzard, warmth courses through Dan’s blood as Phil brushes his finger over the smoothness of his reddened cheeks.

-

Pale yellow lamplight spills onto the lumps of snow, casting shadows over the shimmering white blanket. Snowflakes settle on the soft curve of Dan’s eyelashes. Dan’s lips are cherry red as they part. His breath puffs out in fogged swirls. 

It takes all of Phil’s willpower to stop himself from running his thumb along the fullness of Dan’s lower lip. He restrains himself from pressing his mouth against the slight smear of vanilla cream on Dan’s upper lip. But the treacherous thoughts have taken over him, and he desperately wants to taste it off of Dan’s tempting, extremely kissable lips. Phil notices that his hand that's smoothing over the spattering of freckles on Dan’s cheeks is starting to shake with restrained desire. He stops its path, afraid that Dan will notice the slight tremor. 

Dan opens his eyes when Phil’s hand stops moving, and Phil's breath hitches when he  _ feels _ them pour over into his eyes - like glazed chocolate pouring over golden fountains. He can feel the warm rivulets coursing through his own blood, and when those doe-eyes flick down to his lips and back up, Phil’s blood sings in his ears at the possibility that Dan could actually like him back. A small voice chimes into his subconscious, grounding him back to reality,  _ Dan doesn't like you like that. You imagined it. Obviously. _

_ - _

The snowflakes falling around them swirl sluggishly in the thickened air, and the soft murmuring conversations of the nearby public drown out almost entirely. Dan’s ice cream cone droops in his hand. 

It's just him and Phil and his heart pounding in his ears, standing isolated amidst soft snowflakes fluttering down, amidst the abundance of stars winking at them from the velvety night sky. Every snowflake glitters in the pale light of the moon. 

Phil's lips are far too enticing under the golden light of the lamp post. Dan’s stomach surges with the unpredictable feelings spiraling within him. Even though they’re in the middle of a snow storm, it's almost unbearably hot inside his padded jacket. The heat is excruciating.

Dan feels the constant crackling energy of the incubus, but there's some underlying emotion beneath the heavy blanket of lust. Something that Dan can't quite place. His heart stirs within his chest, alongside the swirls of inner turmoil. When he feels a longing to throw himself against Phil in wild abandon, he doesn't know whether it’s his own desires or the incubus’s desires. Dan steels himself, closing his eyes, allowing the dark abyss to calm his crazed lust, but it doesn't work. His fist clenches as a wave of frustration washes over him, and it's followed by a sharp breath. When he opens his eyes, Phil’s cerulean eyes pull him in like magnets, and he involuntarily leans into Phil’s open, cradling palm. It's warm against his rosy skin. Phil smells like sweet cream and honeyed-sunlight as he leans closer. He feels Phil’s breath shudder over his own,  _ close _ .  _ So close. _

There’s distant laughter coming down the street, approaching them. Dan is almost disappointed he didn’t even hear it with his enhanced hearing, but then he realizes Phil’s dragon hearing is the best in the whole superhuman society. Phil wrenches himself away from Dan as a small gasps flutters from Dan’s mouth. The sounds of the city life whoosh back into his ears, and his vision ripples back to life, almost blindingly bright.

“Ah, we meet again, my friends,” PJ declares. Dan struggles to catch his breath.

“Y-hi.” Phil smiles. Is it just Dan’s imagination, or does that smile seem wider than necessary?

“Y’know, Phil, I might have to take back what I said about you not getting any.” PJ stops a few feet ahead of them, jutting a thumb behind them, in the direction of the ice cream shop, “Cuz’ that guy was totally into you.” Dan’s teeth clench—not from the cold.

“Who, Ethan?” Chris clarifies, “yeah, he was cute.”

Rolling his eyes, Phil shakes his head, “Oh, shut up, will you? I don’t need you investing in my love life again.”

PJ pouts, "Oh, c’mon. You can try a second chance at love. Why not?” He shifts his green gaze to Dan, “What do you think, Dan?"

"Huh?" Dan's voice cracks. "Oh, uh, yeah, Phil. You're truly worthy for a relationship." What a big box of yikes - can he be any more awkward?

Phil only snorts with laughter, though, "You sound like thor." Chris chuckles along.

“Indeed, Rudolf,” PJ’s pale green-dipped-amber gaze flicks back over to Dan, “my, your nose is well red,” he observes absently.

Before Dan can respond, abruptly, he feels a pinprick of pain against his chilled nose, and Phil’s icy fingers swim in his bleary vision. Dan flinches at the subtle sting, “Ow!” Dan’s hand flies to the reddened skin atop his nose as his almond eyes widen.

Phil is cackling a few feet away from him, bracing himself on his knees.

Balling his fists, Dan splutters, “D-did you just flick my  _ nose?” _

“Uh, Sorry?” Phil giggles, crystal eyes sparkling like the snow on the ground.

“Are you?” Dan’s breath mists into the chilled air.

“No,” Phil admits, “Not particularly.”

“What was that even for, y’twat?!”  

Phil decides to answer back with a question, “Why’s your nose so red, anyway?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe because it's freaking _sub-degree_ out here?!” Dan’s stomach surges, annoyance brewing in his chest. He tries not to focus on what the emotion implies, or rather, _why_ he's so annoyed. He doesn't want to dwell on what it's particularly directed to. He's just sexually frustrated—and not because of Phil. It's because he's an incubus, and it's in his nature. Besides, he has other things in mind. 

Kneeling down, Dan scoops up some powdery snow in the hand that's not holding the ice cream cone. Some of the frosted whiteness falls through the gaps in his fingers, but it's enough.

“Ooh, and what do we have here?” PJ’s voice sounds distant behind the angry blood pounding in his ears; he’s a man on a mission. 

Phil’s laughing face morphs into a look of comical horror, “No-stop! You'll drop your ice cream!” He points a shaking finger at the cone. 

Dan glances down at the rock-solid blob of cream, noticing a small layer of white dust collected on it. A delirious bubble of laughter breaks through of his chest, “You were right, mate. Ice cream just doesn't work in the winter.” Phil watches with a gaping jaw as Dan casually tosses whatever's left of his serving into a nearby trash bin. 

“H-hey! I paid for that! Remember?” Phil stutters. 

“Oh, I remember,” There’s a small smirk tugging at Dan’s mouth. He shrugs, “What a waste. I never liked vanilla that much, anyway.” Then he properly winks— _ winks _ —the bastard. Phil doesn't miss the double meaning. 

“Why you—!” Phil’s fingers clench as his heart rate spikes, and his hands are moving autopilot, frantically grabbing handfuls of snow. But when he whirls around, he’s hit square in the face with a mouthful of the fluffy ice. Phil yelps as goose bumps arise along his arms and a shiver of discomfort passes down his spine. 

His vision disappears for a moment, so he can catch Chris’s soft whisper, “Hey, Peej, d’you think we’re interrupting some weird sort of foreplay of their’s orrr...”

“Better to not question it, my love. Let’s leave before we get pummeled.” PJ’s voice.

Blindly managing to fling a lump of snow towards the sound of Dan’s chortling, Phil filters their voices out of his head and smirks inwardly when Dan’s sounds stop. Then he finally has a moment to whip the snow out of his face. 

“ _ Phil!” _ Dan’s squeal echoes along the street. Phil's breath hitches as he sees Dan’s mahogany orbs spark with revenge. PJ and Chris are nowhere to be seen. Phil is breathless, but luckily he can blame the pink on his face on the snow.

As Phil watches Dan pile more snow in his hands, Phil’s hands fling in front of him in a show of defense, “Wait! Dan, we’ll be stuck out here all day if we continue.” A clean surrender. 

After some hesitation, Dan lets the snow drift out of his hand. “Fine,” he huffs, “Truce?” 

Their hands are wet, reddened with cold, as they seal the deal. And maybe they linger for a moment—or maybe that's just Phil’s imagination—and Phil tries not to think about how good Dan’s hand feels, and how perfectly it fits in his grip. 

-

“Where did  _ your  _ ice cream go?” Dan asks, genuine curiosity twinkling in his tree-bark eyes, when they’ve pocketed their hands.  They’ve started treading back to their flat. 

“Oh. I finished most of it back when we were back at the ice cream shop.”

Dan’s eyes widen, “That fast? Did you swallow the whole thing down or something?” 

Phil chuckles softly, “Most of it.”

Dan frowns. There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere, but—why didn't he notice? Where did the time go? He must've been more preoccupied with Ethan than he thought. His stomach turns uncomfortably. 

Before he can give it another thought, they’re already in front of their apartment. Dan is about to open the door, but suddenly, something collides into him with a force that makes him see stars, and then a slush of frigid snow is being shoveled into his face. 

Dan yelps and skitters in the snow. He wheels around, streaks of betrayal flaming in his eyes, “We had a  _ truce! _ ” 

Then he’s knocked down, and Phil is giggling on top of him, pushing handfuls of snow onto Dan’s flushed face. For a second, Dan can only lie there in a state of lust-filled shock, wondering if Phil is actually straddling him right now as he accepts his punishment. Then he's surging up and flinging the snow out of his hair and out of his clothes. He shivers as some of it slithers down his spine, melting inside his clothing. Dan whines in discomfort. 

“You deserve it,” Phil grins as he bats some chunks of snow off his curls. Pale hands brush over the snow that’s sprinkled over his shoulders, and Dan tries not to think of the way his heart gets stuck in his throat with the tenderness. 

“Why are you  _ helping  _ me, then? Commit, Phil.” His eyebrows furrow.

Phil shrugs, “I think I kinda went harder on you. I wanted to get you back, but maybe I overdid it.” 

“ _ Ya think, _ ” Dan brushes off the last of the bits of snow clinging to his hair. 

“Sorry.” Phil’s hand twists abnormally in his pocket, his wrist jutting out, and Dan registers the sign of (sheepish, in this case) nerves. 

“It's fine,” Dan breathes, “But if I get sick, it's your fucking fault.” 

“You won't get sick,” Phil says it so confidently and so warmly that Dan believes him, “I'll make sure of it.” 

“Right… now can we get inside before we freeze to death?” Dan pulls out the key and another trickle of ice-cold water runs down his spine. Dan shudders once more, “Phil! It's in my clothes, godammit.” 

Phil only snickers in response. The warmth of their flat envelopes them when they walk inside. They drag small puddles of water onto the floor. “You’ll be fine. Just take a nice hot shower,” Phil sighs, unzipping his coat. 

“Easy for you to say. You weren't the one who was literally mauled to the ground  _ after  _ we made a truce. I mean, really, Phil? That's just foul play.”

“Sorry, I couldn't resist.” Phil removes his coat and peels his wet socks off his feet. “Ew,” he murmurs, face twisting with disgust. 

Dan quirks and eyebrow, “You better not leave those around, mate. I'm always finding your socks in random places.” 

Phil opens his mouth to respond, but pauses when his hand brushes against something crumpled in his pocket. A frown flits over his face, “What's this?” He pulls out the water-logged paper, and recognition flashes across his features, “Oh,” he puffs. 

“What?” Dan leans over to take a look. The blue, felt-tipped numbers are faded, but still legible. The digits must've been written in neatly and with care, judging by the smooth calligraphy. It's a ten digit number. Dan recognizes the area code instantly. 

“Whose phone number is that?” 

Dan thinks he sees something odd flicker in the royal blue of Phil’s eyes, like a blend of nervous regret. But it's gone so fast, he must've imagined it. 

“Remember the guy at the ice cream shop?” Phil drags out, folding the tarnished paper in half.

“Who?” Dan flicks his eyes up to Phil’s cerulean orbs. A tight coil of dread is already twisting in his stomach. 

“Ethan.” 

Dan hopes the suffocating pause isn't as long as it feels. “Y-yeah, I remember him. He reminded me of your and Peej’s love child, if- if you were to have a child, that is,” Dan’s lip quirks upwards, and he hopes his smile isn't as forced as it feels. He wants to smack himself for saying the last statement though.  _ Your and Peej’s love child? Really?  _ That isn't a thought Phil needs to know, goddamnit. Why is he so awkward? His mind is screaming at him, and he wishes to dissolve into a fine dust onto the floor. 

Phil only snorts at his statement, though, and it eases some of Dan’s embarrassment. But he still feels an unsettling sensation when he thinks of Phil calling Ethan later.  _ Why? _ Frustration swirls in his chest. 

“It's his.” 

“He gave you his number?” Dan’s breath catches when he hears the sharp edge in his own voice.  _ What’s wrong with me? _

Phil shrugs and slips the paper back into his pocket. Dan has a sudden urge to dip his hand inside Phil’s pocket and burn the damned flimsy paper to the ground. But before he can scold his wayward thoughts, Phil wraps his hands around Dan’s shoulders and starts to steer him gently towards the bathroom. “Go take your shower now.”

“Don't tell me what to do,” Dan grumbles, but still allows himself to be pushed. 

“A shower is what you need right now.”

“Alright,  _ mum. _ ” 

“I don't want you getting sick.” Phil’s breath ghosts over the back of his neck when he speaks. A slight shudder passes through Dan’s shoulders. “See? You’re already shivering.” 

Dan’s face floods with warmth. He pushes away the cheeky drawl in his head:  _ that's not exactly why I'm shivering. _ Luckily Phil is behind him, so he isn’t able to see the patches of red on his face. 

“You said I wouldn't get sick anyway,” Dan whines.

“Yeah. If you do what I say, then you won't.” 

A scoff, “Touché.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr @bluejazzberrys  
> leave a kudos/comment if ya liked and thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> asickphil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of these quotes are from @phan-cannons on Tumblr :)  
> also, vomit warning!! you have been warned

Phil snorts awake with sound of someone’s phantom snores echoing in his ears. His head swims and his bones feel like they're made of lead. He cringes as he wipes away a puddle of drool from his cheek. 

He only gets a puddle of drool if he sleeps with his mouth open. And he only sleeps with his mouth open if his nose is stuffed. Phil swipes his tongue over cracked lips and tries to breathe through his nose. It’s futile; his nose is blocked all the way to his pores, it feels.

His limbs are sluggish as he shifts around in his bed. With every breath of air, he feels needles digging into the back of his throat. When he tries swallowing around them, it just dulls the pain to a burning soreness. Not to mention, the skin of his clammy face feels like it’s about to fall off. It's overly warm under the duvet, but somehow a wrack of chills still shudder through his spinal cord. 

Groaning and turning on his side, Phil buries his flushed face into the other end of his cool pillow. His body screams when he stretches a hand out to scramble for his phone. He mentally prepares to send Dan something like:  _ Dannn im the sick one u little weasel.  _

But he does a double take when he sees two message from Dan already. 

[Dan|8:45]  _ phil im so so sorry. i could hear your poor nostrils from a mile away. i (tried to) put together some soup, so you’ll just have to microwave it if you get hungry. i hope youll feel better soon. ill pick up some meds on the way back. get lots of rest and drink lots of fluids, i guess? ill get your paperwork from class _

[Dan|8:47] _ finally got some good blackmail pics of u btw ;) _

Phil scrunches his eyes and groans again. He can only imagine how unflattering he would have looked. His jaw had been hanging open and he was drooling, for fucks’ sake. And he probably had bed-wrinkles on his cheek or something. 

But his queasiness fades when he imagines Dan taking a picture of him in the morning. It's a little too domestic for his sleepy heart right now.  _ It's too early for this.  _

Dan had sent those in the morning. Now it’s a little past noon.  So much for ‘early.’  He slowly sits up on his bed and winces when his vision spins. 

A steam shower sounds good right now. It might clear the stuffing in his nose. He reluctantly shuffles away from the warmth of his duvet and starts to head towards the bathroom.

Warm rivulets pour down his pale skin, tinting the skin over his shoulders a light shade of pink. The drowsiness of the morning still hasn't left his sluggish mind as Phil exhales slowly and closes his eyes, dark eyelashes fluttering as the streams drain away the fatigue from his body. His muscles grow lax underneath the pouring heat and he feels himself melt into the warm spray. 

He picks up his legacy raspberry shampoo and massages silky hair. The everlasting thrum in his head starts to dwindle to a low hum. He sighs lengthily as he moves to stand under the spray again, soapy suds inching over his shoulders and streaming down his torso. The pleasant smell of fresh raspberries fog into the air. 

After brushing his teeth and finishing his showering duties, he makes his way to the kitchen and sends Dan a short message back. 

[Phil|12:13] _ Thanks mum _

[Phil|12:13]  _ Really tho thank you _

[Phil|12:14] _ And I can't believe u took a creep shot of me u snek. You better watch ur back, Howell. I'm coming for u -_- _

Phil sucks in a breath, wondering if Dan would see the last line as a euphemism. Goddamnit, can he say anything normal without making it sound sexual? Apparently not. 

[Dan|12:27]  _ wow u really couldn't phrase that in a different way, could you… _

Phil's face floods with heat.

[Dan|12:27]  _ how are u feeling? _

Phil’s chest surges, a flurry of unidentifiable emotions surging through his body. Or maybe it’s just the nausea. Probably nausea.

[Phil|12:30]  _ Good. Still v sick though *sniff* :’) _

Warming up the soup, Phil tries to ignore the way his heart flips when he thinks of Dan setting time aside to make him something. Dan barely eats too. It's probably only meant for Phil, then.  _ It's fucking soup, Phil. Soup.  _

It  _ is  _ soup, but soup that Dan had made,  _ especially _ for him. He tries not to dwell on it too much, though. 

[Phil|12:34]  _ btw thanks for the soup ^.^ _

After finishing the simple, but heartfelt— _ goddamnit Phil, control yourself _ —meal, he decides to watch Food Wars. It's one of those strange animes that take some time to get used to (it's food porn at its finest), but Phil has seen enough wild things in his life by now. 

Then around two pm, there's a short knock on his door, and Dan is hustling into his bedroom. Phil pauses the episode to take in his frazzled appearance. Flakes of snow linger on his curls. His nose is bright red, and his cheeks are flushed rosy. Chestnut eyes meet his own, lighting up with something Phil can't quite place. It sends his heart thrumming though.

“Phil,” Dan clutches a paper bag in his hands, “how are you?” 

“M’fine,” aside from illness, Phil’s throat has a slight rasp in it from underuse. He clears his throat, “Fine.” 

“Oh god, you don't sound good at all.” Dan’s fingers bleed yellow as his they grip around the crumpled material of the bag. “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.” 

“Don't be,” Phil rushes, “it's not.” 

Dan sighs, “It literally  _ is _ —” Phil jumps out of his skin when Dan’s hand reaches out to touch his clammy forehead, “—fucking hell, you're hot.” Dan pauses, streaks of red rushing to his face, “I mean. You know what I mean.”

Phil snorts, and then abruptly bursts into a string of coughs. His mind is already engraving a flustered Dan into his memory. Flustered Dan is adorable, and Phil’s overheated brain doesn't have the energy to scold his wayward train of thoughts:  _ Dan is glowing. Did this cutie just call me hot? Oh god, I'm in pain _ . 

Dan’s face is still a light shade of pink when the stars clear from his vision, but his hazel eyes flash with alarm. Large hands plunge into the bag and draw out some bottles of pills and—is that cough syrup? 

“I have no idea what I'm doing. Oh god, we need a real adult to take care of you,” Dan rambles as he fishes out an amber bottle and places it down with the rest of the rattling containers. 

“That better not be cherry flavored,” Phil warns as his hand stubbornly thumps down on the blue-green checkered duvet. 

Dan unscrews the cap and freezes. The horrendously hot-pink color stops him in his tracks. “You ever hear that saying, ‘beggars can't be choosers,’ Phil?” 

Phil cracks his eyes open. A frown crosses over his features, “No.” 

Dan huffs out a breath. “Well, Phil. You need to take the medicine, regardless of flavor.”

Phil’s cerulean orbs are hazy when they widen. “It's cherry, isn't it,” he deadpans. 

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn't,” Dan shrugs, trying to be subtle—and failing. Phil straightens up on the bed, spine growing rigid. His heart pounds in his chest. “C’mon, just one spoon?” 

Phil shakes his head. 

“Fucks’ sake, Phil, do I really have to feed you myself? Yes, I know it doesn't taste good but you still need to take it.” Dan pours the liquid out, and Phil watches the sticky, horrid magenta color ooze out onto the metal spoon. A shiver crawls down his spine. 

Dan shuffles forwards and brings the cursed concoction to Phil’s clamped lips. Phil knows if his nose wasn't blocked, he would've been able to smell the bitter-sweet, overly strong cherry scent. His head jerks to the left as soon as he feels the cold kiss of metal on his lips, “Nooo, I don' wanna,” he whines.

Dan sighs, carefully balancing the spoon so that no stickiness falls onto the duvet; it would be hell to clean. “Now you’re just being a child, Phil.” 

Phil’s azure eyes darts to the spoon, and then back to Dan’s eyes. The almond orbs flash with warning, and then Phil’s body is moving on autopilot. 

He springs up from the tangled sheets, laptop tumbling somewhere in his peripheral vision. Adrenaline rushes through his veins as he hobbles away. 

“ _ Phil! _ ” Dan cups a hand underneath the spoon as he whirls around. Phil is gone from the room, but Dan can still hear his wheezy breaths floating from their lounge. Dan winces as a pink bead of liquid falls onto his palm. 

A crazed grin lights up Phil’s features as he collapses onto the couch, limbs screaming. His heart roars in his ears and it feels like a ten-tonned pound is weighing down his chest. His body sinks into the cushions. 

Then Dan’s voice floats from the hall, “Get back here!! You can't just run away from this! Bloody ‘ell.”

A chuckle bubbles from Phil’s chest despite his condition. Yes, he can and, yes, he will. His eyes flutter shut. Dan’s footsteps thunder on the floor. 

“There you are.” Although Phil’s eyes are closed, he can practically see Dan’s hands perched on his hips, exasperation radiating from his being. Phil hums as a lazy smile makes its way to his face. The adrenaline has worn off, and his limbs are heavy with exhaustion. “Phil, this is  _ not _ funny whatsoever.”

“Water,” Phil finally rasps. There's a sigh. Phil uses the chance to escape back to his bedroom, where he collapses in a jumble of limbs, face-first on the mattress. 

A few moments later, Dan’s voice is back. He hears a soft exhale, “Oh dear god,” followed by a, “sit up.”

Phil drags his eyelids open. Dan’s body is rigid as he stands there with a frown etched onto his gorgeous face. His eyes are glaring towards the side and a cup is clutched in his hand. His teeth worries over pink lips. 

“You're cute when you're angry,” Phil slurs, drunk with exhaustion. 

Dan’s head whips towards Phil, his mouth drawing into a hard line. But anger isn't the only reason for the patches of red erupting on his face. Dan has a strong urge to thrust the glass of water over Phil’s delirious face, and he ignores the way his stomach swoops. 

After Phil slowly sits up on shaky legs, Dan firmly presses some paracetamol in his clammy hand. Phil glances up at him dubiously. “Take the medicine, dammit. This isn't cherry flavored.” Then he adds, “although, you’re gonna have to take that eventually.” 

Phil gulps the pill down, “What was that?” 

Dan pauses to skim over the bottle, “Paracetamol.” 

“Oh.” Phil frowns, trying to remember where he's heard the name before. But his mind works sluggishly, to his frustration. 

“Anyway, I have no idea what medicine you can and can not take with this illness. Let me consult WebMD.” 

Phil refrains from snorting, because he doesn't want to erupt in another hacking fit. But he mumbles, “It’s just a common cold, Dan. I doubt it's even a fever.” 

“Oh right! I'll get the thermometer,” Dan strides out to the kitchen, opening one of the cabinets.  _ Thermometer, thermometer, where did we last keep it? Ah—there!  _ It's squished between their supply of pencils and rulers. He grabs it and rinses it to the best of his ability, and then returns to Phil’s room. 

When he swings open the door, Phil is gone. His heart drops as familiar risings of panic wring around his heart. Fucking Phil and his inability to stay still. 

He finds him on the couch. 

“Stop migrating from beds to couches, Phil! I can't keep up and it gives me a heart attack when I walk into your room and you’re not there!” 

Phil hums, “Sorry, I thought I needed air. My room’s a little stuffy.” Phil shrugs, “Besides, it's only a common cold. You shouldn't worry about me so much.” And then he’s interrupted by another wrack of coughs. Dan stares on with horror, wondering if Phil’s lung will pop out any second. 

“Only a common cold,  _ my ass _ .”

Phil smiles weakly and sniffs, “Shut up.” 

A traitorous smile twitches on Dan’s lips. He kneels down and moves to hand Phil the thermometer. Phil frowns down at it, seemingly confused. In truth, Dan isn't able to see the turmoil tightening in Phil’s chest.

When Phil doesn't move to take it, Dan raises his eyebrows, “Do you need me to take your temperature too?” 

“Dan,” Phil glances up, and Dan’s heart wrenches when he sees a flicker of pain swimming in the pink-rimmed orbs, “you really don't have to do this. I know I'm being a burden. I know I'm terrible when I'm sick.” 

Dan exhales a long breath through his nose, closing his eyes. At last, he opens them and places his hand lightly on Phil’s right knee. “Phil, first of all, this is mostly my fault -” Phil starts to protest, but Dan keeps going, “-secondly, you’re my friend. My best friend. And I've never had a best friend before.” He pauses, “You think I’d give up on you just like that?” A crisp snap breaks through the air, “No. Just cuz’ you’re a lil’ shit sometimes? Never. That's the Phil Lester I’ve known to love and respect, and care for.” Dan sucks in a breath, wondering if he's gone too far. Fuck, he just said he loved Phil though. It's okay. Platonic love is a thing. Besides, the warmth flickering in Phil’s widened eyes urges him to continue, and Dan feels his resistance crumbling, “I wouldn’t leave you alone when you need me the most. I will never give up on you like that. And I could never be angry at you. Even if I happened to be, we both know it wouldn't last,” Dan smiles as he smoothes a thumb over Phil’s kneecap. Phil knows his illness isn't the only reason for the lump forming in his throat. “Besides, I'm not angry right now. I'm more worried for you, actually.” 

“Why?” Phil sniffs, mind whirling into overdrive. His head pounds and it feels like he's caught in some fevered trance. He's sure he's dreaming, because there's no way in  _ hell _ that the L-word (yes, capital L) had just come from Daniel Howell’s mouth. 

“Didn't I just give you all the reasons?” Dan takes Phil’s silence as a confirmation. “Now shut up and suck on this thermometer,” Dan thrusts said thermometer under Phil’s nose before he can say something more stupid. He's already said enough. A little too much maybe. 

The spell breaks. 

Phil blinks dumbly at the offensive instrument, and then Dan’s crude words register in his ears, which has his flushing darker red. “ _ Dan! _ ” He splutters. 

A dimple dips over Dan’s cheek. Phil rolls his eyes,  _ really?  _

But before he can say anything more, Dan is prodding his mouth with the end of the thermometer, and Phil’s mouth parts without his permission. His spine fizzles from bottom to top as Dan’s fingers brush against his bottom lip, but the hot appendages are gone in a flash. Phil clamps his teeth down on the thermometer as Dan pushes him gently into a resting position. 

Eyes shuttering closed, he can taste a hint of their dish soap on the thermometer, which fits awkwardly in his mouth. He's always hated thermometers. A hazy fog of childhood memories flit through his mind. He remembers the lavender smell of his mother when she had tucked him in bed. His mother had always made the best soups. Sure, Dan’s soup was great, but nothing beats his mother’s cooking. At the thought of Dan, though, his mind takes a different turn.

Suddenly he feels the sensation of Dan’s arms wrapping around him, pressing him close. Dan’s body has a firm softness to it, and Phil melts into the warm embrace. Phil’s body buzzes pleasantly. A candle of warmth flickers in his ribcage, warming up his chest cavity, as Dan rubs soothing circles over the length of his back. 

And Dan’s eyes are molten-chocolate brown, like a warm lava cake, and everything's so  _ warm _ , and then Dan’s lips are on him, working furiously over Phil’s mouth, swallowing his gasp, and he’s absolutely  _ searing  _ his mind into a sluggish daze, and it's heady and dizzying, and Dan’s tongue is hot against his lower lip, and Phil can't help the groan that rips out of his mouth as white heat flickers behind scrunched lids, and Dan’s curls are soft when he crushes them in his fingers, and Dan is biting into Phil’s lower lip softly, and gently, and— _ fuck _ ,  _ Dan is a good kisser _ —

_ Beep-beep-beep-beep-BEEP. _

Phil jolts awake, thermometer caught in his mouth. Large, doe-eyes peer down at him, a blend of worry and… something else Phil can't quite identify. The proximity has Phil springing upright, heart thundering in his ears. His chest rises and falls with every labored breath.

“Are you okay?” Dan gently pulls out the damned thermometer. He doesn't even bat an eye at the string of saliva that connects Phil’s mouth and the hellish instrument together. 

“Yuh.” Phil licks his tingling lips.  _ A dream, Phil. Just a dream.  _ He doesn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. His hand unconsciously flies up to his tingling lips, and he runs his shaking fingers over his mouth, mind spinning. It felt so  _ real _ . 

“Why d’you ask?” Phil’s eyes scrunch close as he swallows. 

“I… you… it sounded like you were having a bad dream.” 

_ Sounded like…?  _ Phil wonders if he had moaned out loud,  _ fuck fuck fucking shit this is not good.  _ Phil suddenly feels sick to his stomach. 

Dan curses under his breath, and Phil barely hears it past the blood rushing in his ears. He frowns at the stupid instrument, “Phil, you’ve got a high temperature.” Dan sucks his suddenly extremely kissable bottom lip between his teeth, a sign of nerves, but Phil's heart flips in his chest and his breath hitches. Fucking dream messing with his mind. Fucking Dan Howell. Fucking fever. 

He can't be having those thoughts about his best  _ friend. _ He can’t lie. Dan will know. Dan always knows. 

He's fucked, he deduces. 

His stomach gives a sickening lurch, and his eyes water for reasons he doesn't want to analyze.  _ Don't throw up don't throw up don't throw up— _ his throat clamps down and his vision starts to swim. 

“M’gonna be sick,” Phil breathes. Immediately, Dan gathers him in his arms and he's rushed towards the bathroom. His throat muscles convulse along the way, prompting him to dry heave, and Dan is muttering strings of obscenities under his breath. His stomach churns. The hollow _wham_ of the toilet lid slamming open echoes in Phil’s ears.

Collapsing to his knees, his stomach crawls up his chest. Sour bile rushes up his throat, splattering out into the porcelain bowl. Luckily he can't hear any horrid sounds he makes; the only thing he can hear is the sound of his rapid heart beat rushing in his ears. Phil’s eyes screw shut, salty tears pouring out of them as Dan’s hand soothes over his back. Once he's finally finished heaving his stomach out, Phil leans away from the toilet.

Dan moves to flush it, and Phil can't bear to look at its swirling contents. He full-body shudders, and then hiccups around a sob. His face crumples. Gooseflesh breaks along his ghostly skin. He  _ hates  _ vomiting - more than hates it, rather. That's the only reason for his tears. It has to be.

Dan hushes words of comfort into his ear. Phil can't decipher any of it past the hollow ringing in his eardrums. Soft hands flutter over his hair, over his shoulders, and rub circles along his back. Phil belatedly realizes that Dan is rocking him back and forth on the floor of their tiled bathroom. Someone's traumatized wails are rippling against the walls.

Phil registers it’s his own voice. His hands scrabble over Dan’s wide back, and he buries his clammy face into Dan’s neck, inhaling his comforting scent. Weak hints of tree bark and cinnamon spice float into his mostly-blocked nose. 

Once Phil lifts his leaden head up, the exhaustion finally weighs down on his shoulders. Phil thinks Dan might've kissed some of his tears away, but he probably hallucinated it in his post-vomit state. He can barely feel Dan’s thumbs smooth over his raw cheeks. A deathly numbness washes over him. 

The last thing he hears before he dissolves into the blissful void is Dan’s, “ _ Shhh, shhh, I've got you, Phil. I've got you.”  _

***

The next three days are a blur of sleep, eat, shower, repeat. When Phil wakes up on the morning of the fourth day, the sheets are damp and his skin is buzzing with sweat. It's sweltering behind five layers of blankets. Phil errantly notices Dan’s own monochrome blanket in the pile, and warmth seeps onto his chest when he pictures Dan bundling him with a surplus of duvets. His head is clear, along with his nose. The morning light doesn't give him a migraine. His limbs aren't filled with lead. Phil nearly cries in relief. 

The sound of someone else's soft breathing directs his attention to the side of the room. His heart jumps in his chest. 

Dan is sleeping on one of their arm-chairs. His long legs are folded beneath him awkwardly and his head hangs back in an undoubtedly uncomfortable angle in the crease of the chair. 

Phil knows Dan isn't an ugly sleeper; quite the contrary, in fact. So he can't stop his mind from whispering:  _ now - it’s the perfect opportunity.  _ He snickers inwardly as he surges for his phone. Stars blink in his vision when he springs up to grasp the device. Phil leans on his arm, facing sideways as he swipes his lock-screen to the right so that the camera pops up. 

He carefully zooms in onto Dan’s face, wanting the picture to be absolutely perfect and, as Dan had put it, ‘blackmail worthy.’ 

The morning rays of sunlight filter through his bedroom window, highlighting all the perfect imperfections of Dan’s lax face. From his chapped lips to the mess of tangled locks, to the peppering of freckles. It's almost unfair; Dan is still too pretty. Phil switches his phone off and opens the lock screen once again to check the time. It's almost eight am, which means… Dan is going to be late for class. 

Phil crawls out from the covers and notices he's bare-chested. Had Dan removed his shirt? The thought sends Phil’s heart rocketing through his chest, but he disregards it and ruffles through his closet, tugging on a bright blue t-shirt. 

“Dan?” Phil whispers, hand drifting out to touch his shoulder. Dan’s eyelashes flutter, but he still remains asleep. “Dan-ny,” Phil trills, slightly louder.

Phil watches Dan’s nose scrunch in discomfort. Dan shifts around so that the sunlight isn’t pouring onto in his shifting eyelids. Phil pokes his shoulder, “Dan, Dan, Dannyboy. Dan? Wakey wakey.”

Groaning, Dan buries his face into the crook of his elbow, which causes his whole body to lean against the armrest of the chair, and—more importantly—causes his body to lean away from Phil. It’s Dan’s way of saying  _ go away _ . But he needs to wake Dan up right now, or he’ll be late for class. 

Phil watches Dan’s back expand against his nightshirt with every soft breath that flutters from his nose. Leaning forward, Phil brings his mouth dangerously close to the back of Dan’s neck. Bright blue eyes widen, a sinister interest building within him as he watches gooseflesh raise onto the skin of Dan’s neck. Without his permission, his voice lowers to a velvety drawl.

“ _ Daniel, _ ” he whispers, and a flicker of heat flushes through him when he notices the shudder that ripples through Dan’s spine. Breath hitching, Phil gives up entirely on the sweet wake-up method.

He all but yells it in Dan’s ear, “DAN, WAKE UP!”

Immediately, Dan springs upright in the chair, eyes hazy with sleep, “What, what? What happened?” Dan blinks away the drowsiness, and his eyes spark with annoyance once he hears Phil chortling a foot away from him. He smacks Phil’s arm, “You  _ ass _ ,” and scrubs a hand over his face, which is dusted light pink now.

Phil giggles, tongue poking out from his teeth, wondering how someone can be this endearing in the morning. He stops himself short. No, those aren’t thoughts he should be having about his friend. Bad Phil. 

“You weren’t waking up,” Phil defends, as if there's a good reason for shouting into your friend’s ear in the early hours of the morning.

“So… you decided to give me a freakin’ heart attack?” Dan glares.

“...Maybe. Besides, you’re getting late for class.”

“Class that  _ you’re  _ not going to? Fucks’ sake it’s been so boring these past few days,” Dan sighs, staring out into space.

Phil’s heart somersaults in his chest. It’s unfair, how much power Dan’s words have on him. “I…I’m not really that sick. Kinda. I could probably still go.”

“No,” Dan’s voice is firm as he rises up, joints clicking, “you’re staying here. Don’t worry, I don’t miss your annoying ass  _ too  _ much,” he grins, adjusting his trousers.

“You love my ass,” Phil smirks, and  _ fuck what’s wrong with me _ . He's still high on his fever. Obviously.

But Dan only stares at him, eyes wide with faux shock, “Damnit.”  Phil can  _ feel _ those dark eyes roving up and down his figure. It sends tingles all over his skin. “You’ve caught me, Lester,” Dan winks as he saunters to the door, and then he’s gone.

Phil stands there, flabbergasted. The only thing he can hear is the pounding of his heart in his ears. Really, he shouldn’t be overthinking it. They’ve always been slightly flirty with each other since the beginning. Usually if one of them instigates it, the other will happily play along. 

But now that Phil’s feelings are a very real problem, it hurts. It hurts because he knows Dan doesn’t mean any of the casual flirtations, but Phil  _ does _ . It hurts because his feelings  _ hurt _ . 

So, of course, he bottles them up and pretends they don't exist. For his own sanity, he reminds himself. There's no other way. 

He won't ruin their relationship with his redundant feelings. He's fine with being just friends with Dan. He's fine. Best friends is fine. Best friends is better than not friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, philip..  
> thank you for reading!! college is becoming more bearable,, hhh  
> cya next wed? tbh i dont even know how i managed to upload on time xD well, barely on time (pst, idk what timezone y'all are in)  
> tumblr @ bluejazzberrys


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> baking shenanigans............

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello so youve probably noticed that ive changed the update day to friday  
> yeah that just fits better in my current schedule :')  
> enjoy the chapter :) it's slightly longer hehe

Phil spends the rest of the week trying to figure out Dan’s demon classification. After his fever-coma, he had remembered that Dan is actually not human like him. And he’s been burning with curiosity ever since. 

“Can't you just tell me already?” He pleads.

“Nope,” Dan pops a maltezer in his mouth as Phil continues looking for cooking materials. 

“I'll find out one day, Danny,” Phil promises, glancing up from the mess of steel pans jammed together in their cupboard. 

Dan rolls his eyes, “If you say so, Philly.” Phil probably  _ will _ find out once Dan’s on the verge of death; it’s inevitable. But Dan doesn't want to fall into the existential crisis hole right now. “What’re you making?” 

“Dunno, I was thinking stir-fry?” 

Dan freezes, “Wait—what's today? Is today Friday?” 

“...Yes.” 

“Fuck! Cat’s gonna kill me.” 

“What? Why?” 

Dan grumbles under his breath, seemingly lost in his own fogged panic, “I didn't wanna bake this stupid cake, fucking—no, I won't do it. Who does she think she is?” Then he gasps as he feels a pin-prick of pain on his index finger, and something instinctive sternly asserts,  _ You must follow your Lilith’s orders.  _ “Goddamnit! Fucking Lilith powers I swear to god that little b—” 

“Cat’s your Lilith?!” 

“Unfortunately, yes… oh god, Phil, I don't know what to do! I can't bake for shit and Cat’s bakes are always top-notch quality and I'm just a mess compared to her baking, so obviously I procrastinated—you know me—and, oh no, it's for her fucking fuck-boy Anthony so it needs to be good—and fucking  _ Louise!  _ Goddamnit Australia, you've let me down. Why the hell did she choose  _ me _ , of all people, oh for fu—”

“Dan. Dan, calm down,” Phil abandons their meager pan collection and steps forward to smooth his hands over Dan’s shoulders. Dan is almost embarrassed by how fast he melts in Phil’s grasp. His hands are warm and big and steady and everything Dan needs. 

“I'll help you bake it. Lucky for you, I happen to be a cake-baking masta,” Phil grins, and the imaginary string that's tightened around Dan’s chest loosens a little bit. He exhales shakily. 

“You can bake?” Dan’s eyes shine with hope and unshed tears cling to his eyelashes. His breath hitches as Phil’s hands cradle his face. When Phil’s thumbs trace delicately over the curve of his cheekbones, Dan’s heart knocks inside his chest, heat simmering low in his bloodstream.  _ Fucking incubus _ , Dan reprimands. 

Phil shrugs, hoping his voice isn't as low as it seems, “Well, how hard can it be?” Phil had initially thought he had overstepped some boundary when his hands involuntarily reached up to wipe away Dan’s tears, but his heart soars as warmth floods his pale fingertips; the skin beneath his fingers turns crimson, and it takes all of his will power to stop himself from kissing Dan  _ hard _ right then and there. His spine wrenches with the desire, but he holds himself back. 

And it turns out, it’s a lot harder than they think.

“Here, Cat sent me the recipe,” Dan reluctantly moves out of Phil’s grasp, reaching for his phone. When Phil gently plucks the phone from his hand, their fingers brush for a millisecond. Dan ignores the tingle that runs up his spine. 

“Let's see…” azure eyes flick down to the screen, scanning over the recipe. Phil lists the materials off in mumbled words, “one cup butter, two cups sugar… vanilla extract, eggs, baking powder, flour, milk, salt—right, we can do this, Dan. Have no fear, Philly is here,” Phil puffs out his chest in a ridiculous show of bravado. 

Dan snorts and quirks an eyebrow, “Right… don't speak too soon, now…” 

“Let’s get the materials first.” 

They start to gather materials and place them on the gray countertop. 

“How many eggs?” Dan calls as Phil looks for the sugar.

“Uh, four I think.” 

“You  _ think? _ ” Dan echoes, narrowing his eyes sceptically. 

“I mean, I  _ know _ . Have faith in Philly.” 

Dan scoffs, “You’re one of the clumsiest people on the planet; I’m just hoping we’ll get out of this alive.” 

Phil laughs shortly, and then scans their materials as he props his hands on his hips, “Okay, I think that's it.”

“Now what?” 

“Uhh. Now we mix all of them together, right?” 

“Right…”

The sounds of bowls clanging fills their kitchen as Phil shuffles through the cupboard. “Okay. I guess we can start with whatever was first.” 

“You sure your doing this correctly, Phil? Don't we have to preheat the oven first?” Doubt flickers in the Dan’s amber eyes.

“Oh! Yeah you’re right.” 

“ _ Phil! _ ” 

“It's okay, Dan. This is why you’re here, see? Now you’re not completely useless,” Phil’s eyes glimmer with mirth as Dan deadpans, but a smile treacherously twitches on Dan’s lips. There are a few beeps and then the oven drones on. 

“Okay,” Phil rubs his hands together, “ _ now _ , we can start. Uhh, let's start with flour—it says three cups.” 

“Okay, I'll crack the eggs ‘cuz I don't trust you and your impulsive movements.” 

Phil whips around, a bag of marshmallows suddenly appearing in his hands as his eyebrows furrow indignantly, “Hey, I am  _ not _ impulsi—” his elbow knocks over the tall bag of sugar. Granules of sugar explode everywhere, scattering over the tiled floor, covering the smooth surface with small, snow-white grains. Dan can practically hear the crickets chirping as a horrified silence fills the air.

“...oops.” 

A short laugh uncontrollably bubbles from Dan’s chest, “You… were saying?” 

Phil’s cobalt eyes widen, pointing a shaky finger at Dan, “You planned that! You put that there!”

Dan quirks an eyebrow, “How petty do you think I am? Just so I could prove a point, you think I’d make you spill a sack of sugar?” Smiling, Dan shakes his head, “No, Phil, you’re just a clumsy oaf.”

Phil's shoulders slump, “Ugh, I don't wanna clean this up,” he sighs as he stares at the dotted floor. 

“Sucks to suck, Phil,” Dan tsks as he returns to his task. They’ll never finish at this rate. He stares down at the monstrosity that is an egg. It's smooth white surface beams at him almost intimidatingly.  _ How the hell do I do this? _ Cracking an egg shouldn't be that hard, should it? His hand almost encases the whole thing as he brings it up to the lip of the bowl. Inhaling sharply, he smashes it down. The crack that follows is sickening and Dan wants to cry as he feels a terrible, cold, gooey sensation coating his hands. The brittle eggshell speckles over his palm. “Fuck.”

Then he gasps hotly as Phil’s breath caresses the back of his neck, goose-flesh running down his arms. Phil’s voice is the perfect baritone rumble, shiver-inducing, and drips down Dan’s spine as he drawls, “What was that you saying about ‘sucks to suck’?” 

Dan spins around, his sticky hand splattering all over Phil’s t-shirt. 

Phil’s breath hitches, “What the hell?!”

“You scared me, you mother-fff—fluffer!” Dan is breathless. Phil is too close to him. Noticing his hand is touching Phil’s chest, Dan’s eyes twinkle with mischeivousness as an evil idea pops into his head. Then he’s smearing his wet hand all over Phil’s t-shirt, which turns a shade darker with the sticky liquid. 

“Dan! It's cold!” Phil, eyes squeezing shut, stumbles back, “this is foul play.” Dan grins, a devious glint in his eyes, and Phil knows he's fucked. 

“You deserve it, you bastard.” Dan pounces forwards, wiping his messy hand against Phil again. 

“No! Not the nipples!” 

Dan’s smirk widens as he slowly, torturously brushes his hand over the same place. Phil’s shift in breathing and the dark glint in his icy-blue eyes is the only warning Dan gets before it happens.

Phil moves in a flash and, suddenly, Dan’s hands are pinned behind his back with his chest pressed flush to the sleek surface of the refrigerator. His heart-rate skyrockets and a rush of scorching adrenaline pumps through his veins. 

Then the smooth sensation of an ice-cold liquid is pouring down his spinal cord. Phil cackles wildly as an undignified shriek rips from Dan’s lips, ringing all over their kitchen. He arches into the fridge and shivers, his abdominal muscles clenching. And then he registers that the only liquid Phil could have used was the milk. His blood boils as Phil continues giggling like a maniac. 

“What the  _ fuck _ —! Oh, you’re gonna get it now.” Dan twists his wrists, which burn slightly in Phil’s grasp. Grunting against Dan’s neck, Phil stumbles back as Dan worms out of his iron-clad grip. In the few seconds that Dan is free of his hold, he flings open the refrigerator and grabs the first thing he sees (chocolate syrup) as Phil simultaneously reaches for the bag of baking powder. 

Whirling around, Dan’s eyes blaze with revenge. Milk is still dripping down unpleasantly over the length of his back—the back of his shirt is sopping with it—and it only fuels his fury even more. But Phil is already a step ahead of him. Flour explodes around him as Phil violently thrusts the bag forwards. 

The last thing he sees before his vision goes black is Phil’s sinful smirk, which has his heart flipping in his chest. Then, white powder is caked over his face and he’s sputtering and coughing, wildly flailing his long limbs. Puffs of flour explode with each movement and suspend into the air. 

But he doesn't have much time to recover since he hears Phil’s heavy footfalls, along with a panicked yelp. He barely has time to wipe his eyes as Phil’s hands scrabble for his shoulder and the all-too-familiar feeling of falling to the floor with Phil hits him with full-forced nostalgia. Dan’s heart pounds as he falls forwards, crashing to the ground. Their eyes lock the whole way, and Dan’s breath is sucked out of his soul when he sees the glimmers of gold and green melding into the sea of Phil’s crystal-lake eyes. 

Phil’s heart is thrumming beneath his hand, and they’re both covered in sugar, flour, sweat, and egg. Then Dan remembers he’s holding the chocolate syrup in his other hand, and his mind screams,  _ now! It's the perfect time!  _ His movements are erratic as he sits up to straddle Phil. 

“You asked for it, asshole,” Dan says in a breathless huff. Phil can only gape with wide eyes as electric heat erupts in his veins. Never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined Dan in this position.  _ Well that's about to fucking change. _

There's a crazed gleam in Dan’s eyes as he sadistically empties the bottle onto Phil’s pale face. The chocolatey streaks contrast almost artistically with Phil’s milky skin, now tinged pink. Phil turns his head to the side, but Dan keeps pouring. It drips over his neck and the swell of his collarbone, and Dan is entranced by the curve of Phil’s almost delicate bone structure. He ignores the burning desire to just…  _ lick _ . He certainly shoves that one away - far, far away.

Once the bottle makes a pathetic squirt, Dan throws it aside. A hollow clunk echoes in the kitchen. He immediately reaches for the bag of sugar, which is still on the ground, where Phil had dropped it. 

A devious giggle breaks from Dan’s mouth and his heart jumps with glee. Phil’s eyes are breathtakingly blue against the inky chocolate and widen as they flicker to the cursed bag of sugar in Dan’s capable hands. Dan pauses as he watches Phil’s pink tongue trail along his lips, licking up a few strings of chocolate drizzle, “Mmm delicious,’ Phil’s eyes sparkle in a way that says he knows  _ exactly  _ what he’s doing; he used the voice that makes Dan weak to his knees - the voice that usually triggers the incubus. Dan’s heart thumps in his chest as his mind spirals into the gutter. He swallows around the dry desert in his mouth. It's suddenly too hot in the room, and Dan’s grip slackens on the sugar as he struggles to calm his breathing. 

Phil’s hand darts out, clasping onto Dan’s thrumming wrist so that it halts all movement. “Hey—! That's unfair you distra—disturbed me!” Dan gasps as Phil yanks on his wrist, which has Dan fruitlessly trying worm out of Phil’s hold yet again, “Let go!” Phil’s hand shifts to grab the other side of the bag. Dan groans, planting a foot on either side of Phil’s torso and pushing off of the floor. 

It becomes an all-out tug-of-war. They struggle with the crumpled bag for a few more moments, and Dan tries his best to stop thinking about where he’s positioned over Phil, but all that delicious squirming is certainly not helping.

The sound of a prominent rip breaks their scuffle. Both of them freeze, their widened eyes locking onto each other for a single, breathless second. The moment is suspended in time. A bag of salt sails through the air. Dan belatedly realizes Phil must've thrown it haphazardly at some point. Everything moves in blissful slow-motion, before slapping back into harsh reality. 

Dan tumbles backwards as the thin bag tears in half. Sugar explodes around them, adding to the collection on the floor. The granules stick to the chocolate coating on Phil’s face, to Phil’s dismay.

Dan’s breath is knocked out of his lungs from the impact. His ears ring, and the groan coming from his mouth sounds distant. Phil crawls over him gingerly, and leans over Dan’s body on all fours, “Are you okay?” His crystal eyes are glimmering with worry, and something tugs in Dan’s heart. Heat sizzles in his stomach as Phil’s hand reaches down to brush the flour from his face. Dan can only stare up at him with wide eyes and stolen breath. A drop of chocolate glaze falls from Phil’s face to Dan’s cheek, where a blush starts to bloom. Phil smears the chocolate with his thumb, and watches with satisfaction as the blush spreads to cover Dan’s whole face. It puts a ridiculous idea in Phil’s head. 

He dives down to Dan’s neck, and his blood rushes when he hears Dan’s choked gasp. His chocolate-covered face smothers into Dan’s neck, and a little bit of his collar-bone. He almost groans when he’s hit with Dan’s natural scent. It's a heady mix of something woodsy and spicy and something indescribable that just screams  _ Dan _ , and it has heat twisting in his gut.

Dan starts panting as soon as Phil’s face is buried inside the juncture of his neck. He’s hyperaware of Phil’s lips. The chocolate is cool against his heated skin, and he can barely suppress a moan as Phil’s breath ghosts over his collarbone. In order to eliminate the sudden dryness of his mouth, Dan runs his tongue along his lower lip. His heart ricochets when he hears the squeal that tumbles out of his own breathless mouth, “Noo!  _ Phil!  _ Is this your form of payback?!” His face burns scarlet as he squirms under Phil’s touch. Phil’s giggle tickles his sensitive neck. Dan takes a sharp intake of breath as his eyes scrunch closed, blood roaring in his ears. He wishes for the agony to end as his mind fogs over in tortured bliss. Then he feels the softness of Phil’s mouth burn into the top of his collarbone, and his breath hitches as electricity filters through his veins.

“ _ Fuck _ —get off me.” Dan’s hand scrambles over the messy floor, collecting a handful of flour and sugar, which he promptly rubs all over Phil’s face. It gets sticky chocolate on his hand, but it also gets Phil out of his personal space. Dan winces when he feels the sticky feeling on his neck. His chest heaves.

After a pause, Dan pants, “You’ll be… sorry you did that.” Phil ignores his lackluster threat and starts to wriggle over to the refrigerator. His face is an absolute wreck now; it’s covered in sugar granules and poofs of flour, all scattered over a shining chocolate glaze. Even his quiff is dusted white. Although his eyes are still blazing blue. He struggles as he crawls across the slippery floor.

“What’re you doing?” Dan slurs. His hand flings out to grab Phil’s ankle. 

“No!” 

“Where are you off to?”

Phil laughs hoarsely, and if anyone would've walked in right now, it would've seemed as if they were deep into the pits of insanity. 

“I'm just… heading to the refrigerator, Dan.”

“Uh huh.”

“So… let me go.” Phil tugs his ankle. 

“No.”

“Let me go, Dan.”

“No!” 

When Phil starts struggling again, his foot almost hits Dan’s face.

“Fucking hell!” Dan exclaims. His grip is slippery because all of the damned egg and chocolate syrup. Inevitably, Phil’s ankle finally slips through, and he makes a mad dash for the refrigerator. 

His footsteps thunder on the powdered floor, and it's surprising he hasn't fallen on his face yet. Dan is hot on his heels, but he’s too late; Phil has already cranked the fridge open, and a can of icing pops out, bouncing noisily on the ground. 

“No! Not the icing!” Phil crouches down, trying to grab the small container. His face is morphed into a comically horrified expression. 

Dan’s nimble hands snatch up the can, moving it away from Phil’s grasp. He snaps the lid open, and barbarically shoves a hand into the smooth vanilla dip. The scent is heavenly when it floats into his nose. 

“Shit,” Phil mutters under his breath as his cerulean eyes scan the room for something else to hurl at Dan. It's too late though. 

Dan charges up with an undignified battle cry, smearing icing over anything he can touch. Phil’s heart pounds as Dan’s hands smooth over his bare arms, over his neck, brushing over his face. It's messy and goose-flesh break out over Phil’s tingling skin, a crackling heat fogging the air.

Phil’s hands fly to Dan’s hips, clutching the warm material of his shirt there. Dan gasps, limbs locking. Then Phil swiftly turns them around, and Dan’s back is pressed against the fridge. His chocolate eyes are blown and his breathing is shaky. Reaching for the icing, Phil plucks it easily from Dan’s numb appendages, and places it on the counter, within his reach, but out of Dan’s. His right hand rests atop Dan’s hip, its thumb moving in dizzying circular strokes, while his other hand dives into the vanilla cream. He runs the finger down the side of Dan’s neck that's not smeared in chocolate. Dan’s eyes flutter shut and his face twists as he feels the cool icing against his flushed skin. Phil is enchanted by the way the white icing contrasts against his tanned skin. His finger crosses over Dan’s pulse, and when he feels a solid thrum against the pad of his finger, his heart pulses in his ears. 

Dan clamps his mouth shut, but a whine inevitably bubbles from his mouth as he wriggles restlessly against the surface of the refrigerator. His hands scrabble against the cool surface of the fridge. Prickling heat flares in the dense air around them. Phil's eyes are glazed with an inexplicable emotion, and Dan has to restrain himself from shuddering in his firm hold, under his smoldering gaze. When Phil speaks, a shiver passes down his spine, and the shudder he’s been trying to hold back finally surfaces. 

“I didn't want to waste the icing.” 

Dan’s eyes snap open - when did they close? - and his breath hitches when he only sees a sliver of cobalt blue color encircled around hypnotizing black holes. Phil’s eyes subconsciously draw him in impossibly closer, pulling him in like a magnet. For a heart-stopping moment, Dan thinks Phil is about to kiss him in the mess of their kitchen. And his heart palpitates when he realizes he wouldn't stop Phil if he did. Mind racing with the troubling thoughts, Dan’s heart pounds against his rib-cage and he holds his breath in anticipation as he stares at Phil wordlessly. 

Phil doesn't kiss him. 

He takes the same finger and scoops up the streak of icing, and Dan still holds his breath through the whole ordeal. Chest heaving, Dan’s teeth sink into his lower lip, trying to prevent any horrid sounds from escaping as Phil’s index finger slides up his neck, smearing up the agonizing trail of vanilla. Then Phil pops his icing-covered finger in his mouth, humming as a burst of sugary flavor floods his taste buds. Heart thundering, Dan watches Phil suck on the appendage, followed by a soft, pleasure-filled hum. Burning heat unfolds in Dan’s chest, and he wonders if it's possible for someone to literally combust.

Then Dan snatches the cursed cup of icing from the counter, and pounces on Phil, spreading more of it on any reachable skin in a breathless flurry of movement and scuffling and giggling.

Once the container is finally emptied, Phil notices that Dan has managed to get some more icing on himself. A strip of icing has landed on the curve of his calf. They’re both breathless and breathing in each other's air. 

“That's… what you get,” Dan breathes, pressing a icing-coated finger into Phil’s chest, over a speckling of flour and dotted chocolate sauce. Dan’s breath is warm against Phil’s face, and he can feel Phil’s heart thrum beneath his finger. 

“Dan, you’ve got some icing—woah!” Phil slips on something and he’s thrown into Dan once again, both of them hurtling to treacherous floor. 

“Fuck, Phil, how many times,” Dan groans, head thwacking back against the floor. His hair is a curly mess of powder and a few strands stick to his temples. Phil smiles sheepishly, but his eyes are still blown and dark and  _ dominating _ , and Dan restrains himself from squirming under his heated gaze. 

“I was just saying, you’ve got some icing…” Phil moves down on Dan’s body, and it has Dan’s heart thumping in his ears. The blood rushes to his head. His jaw falls as Phil gently takes hold of Dan’s ankle. Cerulean orbs stare intently at the smudge of icing, and Dan holds his breath in anticipation. When his toes curl, Phil notices. 

“Phil, you don't have t—” Phil’s thumb gently traces a circle around the swell of his ankle. Dan’s heart gets lodged in his throat, and he snaps his mouth shut because he's scared he'll do something stupid - like moan. He's too sensitive for this.

It's almost surreal as Phil’s breath washes over his leg, but Dan’s eyes fall shut before he can see more. Then he feels it: the hot, wet feeling of Phil’s tongue licking up the icing on his calf. Dan bites down on his lip so that he can prevent the sounds that are threatening to bubble out. He wonders if Phil is doing this to spite him, or to push him over the edge, but he doesn't want to delve into the complex. 

But when he just barely feels the scrape of Phil’s teeth on his flesh, he’s forced to bite on his own fist as a soft whimper breaks free. His face burns hotly,  _ no that did not happen. I didn't make that sound _ , but his reassurance slowly crumbles as Phil continues his ministrations, because—yes, he had definitely just made that sound, and Phil had definitely heard him by the way his eyes glitter like sapphire gems. 

Phil glances up from beneath his dark eyelashes. Nearly obsidian pools meet dark chocolate orbs. Dan’s skin buzzes with heat. When Phil’s tongue dips out, Dan arches back and bites down hard on his lip, chest rising and falling swiftly. Molten lava courses through his blood stream, and his whole body ripples with pleasure when he feels the hot drag of Phil’s tongue searing into his skin. And when Phil hums against his skin, as if to say  _ you taste good _ , Dan feels the vibrations of every sound against his skin, and he practically shudders as a lightning bolt runs through his spine. He rips his leg from Phil’s firm grasp. “ _ Fuck _ , I think that’s enough, Phil,” he gasps. 

Phil licks his lips, and Dan wants to cry. He wants to shove Phil against the floor and just crash his mouth against his and taste the icing on his tongue—dangerous thoughts, those were. Dangerous thoughts. Phil’s voice breaks his fogged mind, “Right. Sorry, I just… couldn't waste the icing,” he sighs, wringing his hands on his prim hips. 

_ Of course it's the damned icing. _

Phil scans the floor, “We should probably, uh, get this place cleaned up.” 

Dan’s mind is still spinning; is Phil just going to act like that didn't happen?! Was that just him and his horny mind? He doesn't want to question it. He, in turn, rises and brushes himself off. “This place is a bloody mess.” 

“Yeah. Let's just hope we can clean it up without breaking into havoc.”

“Truce?” Dan’s hand extends out. Phil’s hand wraps around his own, his grip warm and welcoming, and sending tingles over him yet again. He's still tempted to lick the chocolate off of Phil’s collarbone so that some of his hunger is in control, but his thoughts only make everything worse. 

“Truce.” 

***

Dan ultimately ends up buying the cake. What other choice does he have? Besides, the cake he had bought looks convincing enough. 

His tie, on the other hand, is another story. He struggles with it for a few moments in front of the mirror, pathetically tangling it up. The silky, black material hangs loosely around his neck and limply over his chest. Honestly, how can anyone be  _ this terrible  _ at tying? He huffs. He didn't want to resort to his last option, but what other choice does he have? 

After exiting his room, he hovers by the doorway. “Phil?” Phil's room is down the corridor, so he should be able to hear Dan. “Ph—”

“Yeah?” Phil's voice is muffled through the walls. 

Dan feels his face heat as he processes how he should word his next statement, “Uhm… can you tie… ties?” Great. Perfect phrasing. 10/10, Dan Howell. 

He gasps as Phil's door flings open. Dan’s breathing pattern shifts because Phil is—since when did Phil wear  _ glasses _ ? Beneath those glorious black frames, Phil’s eyes squint at Dan. His lips quirk in a hint of a smile, and Dan knows he’ll never hear the end of Phil’s teasing. 

“You’re telling me… you still can't tie a tie yet?” Phil looks like he's on the cusp of bursting into uncontrollable laughter. 

“Hey, you’ve got four more years of experience!”

“I still knew how to tie at 19 years of age, Dan.”

“W-well I didn't have a cool older brother like you.” 

Phil scoffs as he saunters towards Dan, “Martyn? Cool? In his dreams, maybe.” 

Dan rolls his eyes, “The rivalry still runs strong, I see.” 

“Martyn didn't teach me how to tie this anyway,” Phil says as his pale hands flick around Dan’s collar. It instantly shuts Dan up. His stomach swoops as Phil’s fingers brush against the skin of his annoyingly sensitive neck, and if he wasn't blushing before, he definitely is now. 

As the familiar, dreaded sparks of electricity filter through his blood stream, Dan thinks,  _ maybe I should've had some chocolate before this,  _ but now it's too late. 

Dan is certain that Phil doesn't understand the concept of personal space. He hears Phil murmuring directions somewhere in the background; Dan manages to pick up ... _ and then you loop it here like this,  _ but he isn't able to hear much else behind the blood roaring in his ears. The air thickens with a dense fog of desire and his chest burns like he had just taken a shot of pungent whiskey. Except he's not drunk on whiskey; he’s drunk on  _ Phil _ and his hands, and how do his hands feel so good on him? His reactions are getting more unbearable by the day and it's starting to get more and more worrying. 

But his worries zing out of his head as he feels Phil’s hand smooth down his chest, over his dress shirt. He hopes Phil can't feel the way his chest rises and falls with every noisy breath. When Phil steps back, his eyes are molten and twinkling blue, like stars twinkling in the midnight sky. The blend of gold and jade in his deep-sea gaze never fails to captivates Dan.

“You okay?”

Dan restrains himself from shuddering, but it ripples out as Phil reaches out to skim his palm against his forehead. Dan melts into the touch. 

“ _ Ngh _ .” Eyes popping, Dan claps a hand over his mouth. Immediately, he starts hacking. His face blooms crimson red.  _ No no no no I didn't say that I didn't make that fucking noise right here right now in front of Phil fucking Lester.  _ Phil swiftly retracts his hand from his burning face, but the same hand then brushes over his curls, and all Dan can think is  _ is he trying to kill me?!  _

“Hope I didn't get you sick,” Phil frowns as he steps back. The corner of his mouth twitches and he looks like he's trying to hold in a smirk, but Dan isn't completely sure because he's still in a semi-panic-embarrassed state. Finally, Dan’s lungs are able to function again. He takes a steady breath, and the heat slowly drains out of his blood, but a steady hunger still pulses. 

 “You won't,” Dan manages to mumble, “You didn’t. Ugh, I don't wanna go to this party,” Dan manages to mumble, trying to have a conversation like a normal human. But it's also the truth; he was never fond of parties. Also he needs to seriously get laid before the incubus takes over and makes him jump Phil or something. Is that even possible? He’ll have to ask Cat.

“It's okay, it’ll only be for a couple hours, right?” Phil’s eyes are now a hazy blue, the color of a blue-gray spring pond.

Dan nods slowly, but he can't help the slight twinge of disappointment that curls in his gut. He wishes Phil would beg him to stay back, but it seems Phil is fine with him going to Cat’s party. Alone. 

And why is he thinking like a clingy boyfriend—best friend—anyway? He doesn't need Phil to be with him at all times. 

No, his brain corrects, it's not about Phil, it's about avoiding the party. He's disappointed because he wants to avoid the party, not because he wants Phil to come along. 

After a beat, Dan spins on his heel and grabs the neat envelope that rests on the gray counter; he barely knows Anthony, so he had just bought a classic Amazon gift card. Sue him. 

“Got the cake?” Phil asks as Dan heads for the door. They had to eventually just buy the cake; what other choice did he have? 

“Yup! Got it right here,” Dan chirps, tucking the small white envelope under his arm, and holding the cake in hand, “See ya, Phil.” 

“Have fun.”

Dan scoffs, “I'll try,” he rolls his eyes. Hesitating at the door-knob, he has an illogical urge to tell Phil to just come along, but his hand is already twisting the door open. The creak of the door swinging open fills their flat, and then Dan is gone. 

Silence fills the air. Exhaling slowly through his nose, Phil runs a hand down his face. No, he's not going to groan out loud like a love-sick loser. 

He probably over-stepped some kind of unspoken boundary when his hand wandered over Dan’s body, but he couldn't help himself; Dan looked too good in that suit. It fit him in all the right places and was smooth and sleek and  _ silky _ , and just perfect. His shoulders were broad and tapered down to his thin waist and the black material fit him like a glove. It was arranged so deliciously neat that Phil found himself longing to ruck it up and dishevel Dan right there and then. He couldn't do that, for obvious reasons. So instead his hands had fluttered over Dan’s neck to feel the swell of his collarbone, or skirted over his chest to feel the rise and fall of his breath _.  _

Phil heaves another sexually frustrated sigh, and then remembers he has his linguistics deadline coming up, and he should probably start working on it. His shoulders slump defeatedly. 

He trails back to his desk and busies himself with the assignment. The golden light of his desk lamp illuminates the piles and piles of papers and books jammed onto the wooden surface. He scans through the mess of mostly illegible papers and fishes out the slightly crinkled one. 

As he sits down at his desk, he sighs heavily, yet again, and begins to skim over the paragraph: 

_ (b) The two derivations, while identical in result, imply different meanings. The first talks of all sandwiches, possessing a pickle, that are on the floor, while the second talks about all sandwiches with a pickle that is on the floor, with the difference being the entirety of the pickle containing sandwich being on the floor, or just the pickle (which belongs to a sandwich) being on the floor. In either case, the sandwiches still desire leadership in the form of a president. _

Phil blinks owlishly at the cursed paper. _What the everloving fuck?_ On any other day, he would've found it amusing. Today, he doesn't even snort. How can he? He can't discern any of it, and it's due in a few days. His chest tightens as his spine wrenches with anxiety. He sighs for what seems like the millionth time that day, and a few papers scuttle meekly under his breath. Time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #mutualpining wow theyre so frustrating arent they? geez
> 
> tumblr @bluejazzberrys
> 
> tysm for reading!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A MESS. THIS IS A MESS.  
> someone help them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vomit warning, but not as graphic as the last one.  
> thank you for your kudos/comments!! they make my day <3

“Work” somehow ends up being an endless line of YouTube videos: a loop of panda sneezes. He couldn't help himself. He doesn't even realize how long he's been spending on the internet, because the heavy thumping from the door jolts him out of his internet trance—Phil's eyes bounce to the bottom right corner of his laptop—and suddenly it's… already two am?!  _ Oops _ . 

Then the same  _ thunk thunk thunk  _ sounds on the door. Phil knows it's only logical to think it's Dan at the door, but 1) Dan has a key; why would he knock? and 2) Dan doesn't knock on doors like that, and 3) it's also pretty late at night, so he doesn't want to take any chances.

But as soon as he unplugs a lamp and hoists it in his hands, he hears the unmistakable whining of his flatmate. 

“ _ Phiwww save meeeee!”  _

Phil barely has time to put the lamp back in place before the door clicks open. He flops himself back onto his desk chair and snatches his pencil back up. The thought of someone seeing him with a lamp brandished in his hand and a crazed look in his eye has heat flooding to his face. 

“God, shut up, will ya? You'll wake up the whole damn building.” A silver-haired girl bumbles into their apartment, lugging Dan along on her thin shoulders. She clutches their key in her hand and stops short when she sees Phil gaping at them from his desk. “Oh,” she puffs, “Phil.” 

Words fail to exit Phil's mouth, but he finally has the decency to snap it shut. 

Then Dan jerks his head up to look at his surroundings, and he spots Cat staring intently at Phil. “Haaands  _ off! _ ” Dan slurs. Something in their body language—Dan glares down at Cat, and Cat’s shoulders slump just the slightest bit—tells Phil that they’ve talked about him before. His heart flutters, and he’s filled with insatiable curiosity. 

Cat pinches the bridge of her nose with her hand for a moment. When she looks back up, her eyes glint, “that's interesting… Dan never told me you were his  _ flat _ -mate.” Her mouth is quirked in a smile. It's not a friendly look. 

Not knowing what to say, Phil fiddles with his pen. “Erm… maybe it never came up in casual conv—”

“Philll you’re so  _ fucking hot _ in glasses.”

Phil promptly turns scarlet as Cat smirks, and he has a sudden urge to rip his glasses off. He feels oddly violated as Cat continues raking her eyes over him. “ _ Damn _ , he got lucky.” 

Phil wonders if she's referring to him or Dan - Dan? Belatedly, Phil realizes that Dan has wandered off somewhere because he's not by Cat’s side anymore. Who is she talking to? In either case, Phil wants the ground to swallow him up whole. He feels slightly disoriented after Dan’s commentary. And again, Phil realizes Dan’s words have too much power over him. He also realizes Cat is probably a little drunk, which could explain her behavior. 

“Right, well I'll leave you to it. He's a friggin’... ” Cat flaps a hand, “hot mess,” she grins cheekily, “have fun.” Did Cat just wink? No, he definitely hallucinated that. But then she's gone in a flash, and Phil wonders if he dreamed the whole thing up in his sleep-deprived state. After all, he can practically hear a cricket chirping in the empty space of their flat for a few beats. 

But a moment later, Dan shuffles back into the room with a pair of sunglasses in hand, seemingly proud of himself. His cheeks are tinted pink and mirth swims in his glazed eyes, showcasing the effects of alcohol. Phil feels a tightening in his chest when he remembers what happened in their last drunken encounter.

Then Dan is right in front of him, and before Phil can consent, Dan removes his glasses from his face. His vision is blurry for a few seconds, but then clears as Dan replaces them with the dark shades. His powered shades. How does Dan know where he keeps them?

“Dan, what’re you doing?” 

Phil jumps out of his skin when he feels Dan’s warm hand cup his face, “Shhhh shhh it's too sunny outside. You need this, you're too pale, Phil. You’ll get sunburned.” Dan pats his cheek a few times. 

Phil's eyes twinkle with amusement, “Dan… it's two in the morning. The sun is gone.”

“What? Nooo,” Dan shakes his head, “it's very sunny, Philly.” Turning back, Dan retreats to his bedroom, his voice floating down the hall, “Here, I'll get you…”

“Dan? Dan, where are you going?” 

Dan returns with a horrid straw sombrero clutched in his fingertips. Phil remembers getting it on a cool November evening, where some enthused salesman had convinced them to buy it in a thick Hispanic accent, because _the sale is higher during the cooler months. In the hotter months, this will be in demand!_ _¡Costará más!_ Phil called bullshit; it was the only sombrero left in the shop and looked properly worn. It was probably eBay-level worthy, not shop-level worthy. But Dan was adamant about it: _where else can you find an authentic sombrero, Phiw?_ It wasn't authentic by far; the tweed was fraying at the ends and the wickered material was faded. But he had bought it. Of course he had after Dan’s unfair sabotage: puppy-eyes. 

Phil is brought back to the present when Dan plonks the hat on his head, rather clumsily. He steps back to admire his work as he props his hands on his hips. Phil straightens the sombrero and peers at Dan under his shades. 

“Mm, that’s better,” Dan nods, “Now Philly won't get sunburn. It's too bad we don't have sunscreen.” 

Phil would have never thought a day would come where he would be grateful for not having sunscreen. 

Dan moves behind Phil to squint at the papers on the desk. His hands are warm when they rest atop Phil’s shoulders, “Anyway, Phiw, whatchu up to?”

There's a pause as Dan blearily reads the collection of words that is Phil’s homework. From behind his shoulder, Phil watches Dan's face scrunch in confusion for half a second. Then Dan bursts into a fit of contagious giggles. 

“What the fuck do y'all do in this linguini class what the  _ fuck _ ?” 

“Linguistics,” Phil autocorrects, a few chuckles tumbling from his own mouth. 

Dan’s dimples appear in the light of his desk lamp as he continues smiling widely, “That's what I said.” 

“Uh… sure…” Phil’s mouth twitches with hints of a grin. 

Dan, glancing up from Phil's desk, seems to finally take in the view of their flat. “Woah… the room is all tilty, y’know?” His hands fling in the air to prove his point. Phil watches him with a raised eyebrow as Dan spins in a slow circle. “Wheee—oh dear.” Dan stumbles precariously on one foot, “shhit.” 

Phil snorts, “you alright?” 

Dan whirls around and his voice is too loud for the indoors, “M’fine… jus’...  lil’... dizzy—woah!” Dan almost topples over his own two feet then, but Phil springs up to collect him in his arms. He straightens up, adjusting himself so he's properly secured Dan in his grip. His arm slings around Dan’s shoulder. 

“Fuck, I think m’gonna be sick,” Dan breathes into Phil’s shoulder, and Phil hates the tingle that runs down his spine because of the caress of Dan’s speech. 

Phil nods jerkily, “Right. Let's go,” and drags him to the bathroom.

Once Phil ushers him inside, Dan immediately dips down over the toilet and empties the contents of his stomach.

Phil winces once he hears the horrible retching sounds ring all over the small room, followed by a sickening splutters. Holding his breath, Phil smoothes a hand over the expanse of Dan’s back. The crisp white dress shirt is warm beneath his pale fingers—almost worryingly hot. He feels a shudder go through Dan’s spine, and a wave of sympathy crashes over him. He had experienced the same feeling a few days ago, after all. 

After another few agonizing, gagged-filled minutes, Dan leans back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Fffuckin’ell,” he exhales as he rinses his ashen face in the sink. 

“Here,” Phil hands him a breath mint. Dan’s chest heaves and his eyes are red-rimmed. His fingers shake when he takes the mint. 

“Thanks,” Dan rasps. 

“Are you… okay?” 

“Y’know last time I was sick like this, I didn't even know what I was.” Dan’s eyes are distant, staring through Phil. 

“What do you mean?” For some reason, Phil’s heart starts battering in his ribcage. 

Suddenly, Dan clutches onto Phil’s collar. A crazed gleam filters in his almond-glaze eyes, “It was so scary, Phil. M’god,  _ finally _ someone else’ll understand.” 

“What?” Phil’s brain short-circuits, and he feels something important slip out of his grasp. His own voice sounds warped in his ears and echoes in the small bathroom, “understand what?”

Dan, hands still weakly clutching Phil’s collar, flits his gaze to the tiled floor. His face morphs into a frown, voice thick with memories, “Those horny things got me. And the eyes, goddamnit, it was scary. Scary Philly, so scary-scary-scary.” 

“What? What are you saying? Were you assaulted or something?” Phil’s breath hitches as he imagines the worst-case scenario. Stomach churning, every bone in his body aches as his blood freezes.

But when Dan’s frown finds his own, his worries fade, “What? No. Why?”

“What are you talking about then?” The words blurt out of his mouth without his consent as his hands find Dan’s shoulders. It's probably best if he doesn't know. He doesn't need to know. He doesn't want to take advantage of Dan like that. Besides, it feels like something he shouldn't know. But alas, his subconscious is treacherous; the question is already out. 

Dan blinks owlishly, “Y’know, when I found out I was an incubus?”

The word hangs heavily in the air, and is followed by a suffocating silence. Phil is absolutely lost for words as he stands frozen, jaw falling like a gaping fish. It feels like an anvil has been dropped upon him. His breath is sucked out of his soul, and he feels like he's broken a private moment, and he wishes he could just rewind time. Because he took advantage of Dan. His heart plunges to his stomach, where it lurches sickeningly. This is wrong. He shouldn't be here. This is wrong _.  _ A chilling numbness washes over his bones. This is _ wrong.  _

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong. Phil feels like he might be sick. The stale scent of the lingering vomit isn't helping. He reaches over to flush the toilet.

If only he were asleep by the time Dan got home. But  _ no _ , he had to wait for him like a love sick loser. Phil swallows around the lump in his throat. 

Then Dan’s voice breaks him out of his murky turmoil, “Hey Phiw, are dragons cool?” Phil’s breath hitches as Dan drags a finger down the length of his cheek, a soft caress against Phil’s paler than pale face. His chocolate eyes are filled with starstruck wonder, and Phil’s heart rattles in his chest. 

“I-I dunno, let's just… let's get you to bed.” Phil says, unable to meet Dan’s gaze. He starts to haul Dan out of the bathroom. Sudden exhaustion weighs down on his shoulders along with Dan's steady arm. His mind reels as he makes his way down the hall.  _ Incubus?  _ The word bounces around in his barren mind, off the walls of his brain.  _ Incubus.  _ Phil is slightly relieved he hasn't heard of the word before, but his stomach still shifts with guilt; he had still taken advantage of Dan’s drunken state. 

Dan’s fingers jolt Phil out of his thoughts. The long appendages play around his collarbone, and those wandering hands are are  _ not _ helping Phil’s predicament. Phil restrains himself from groaning in defeat and looking heavenwards.  _ Please, not a horny Dan. Spare me, world.  _ He trudges on, though.

But every slight graze of Dan’s curious fingertips has his veins alighting in flames. It's excruciating, and when Dan starts giggling again, Phil thinks he's giggling at his pain. It's a ridiculous thought, he knows, but still.  _ Now what? _

“Silly Philly… how did you get that hat on you? It looks bloody horrendous,” Dan wheezes out a hearty laugh. 

“You put it on me, Dan,” Phil huffs, whipping the hat off, along with the sunglasses. He places them on a nearby table.

It takes Dan a few moments to process the sentence. His face morphs into a small frown, “I  _ did _ …?”

“Yes.” They've come to a complete stop. Dan's room is just around the corner.

Dan giggles again, “No I didn't. What the fuck, Phil, are y’drunk?”

“Nope, I'm afraid that’s you, Dan.”

“M’not drunk,” Dan slurs, pressing a finger into Phil’s shoulder, “ _ you _ are.”

“Really,” Phil deadpans as he holds three fingers up, “How many fingers am I holding, then?” It's a stupid test, he knows, but it'll humor Dan, at least. Or so he thinks.

Dan frowns at the offending appendages, and then his hands reach out in a similar fashion to a baby reaching out for its toy. 

“Your fingers are so  _ long _ ,” Dan gushes as he grips Phil’s pale fingers in his large hands. Phil's breath catches in his throat as he watches Dan’s eyes shift to a dark ochre, a molten dark chocolate. “Wonder what they’d feel like ins—”

“Okay!” Phil’s stomach surges and a hot wave of gooseflesh erupts over his skin, “I think it's time for you to sleep now.” Phil shoves away any sinful thoughts, cramming them to the back of his head. No, he can't be thinking of _that_ two feet away from Dan. And Dan is his friend. Sure a best friend, but a _friend_. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Dan is still playing with Phil’s fingers and it's sending tingles down the length of Phil’s spine, but he ignores the pin-pricks of sensation. “But Phiw, I was just saying—”

“Shh-no. You were saying nothing.”

“But—”

“Shut up.” Phil's finger pushes against Dan's plush lips without his permission. He wants to rip his finger away almost immediately, but he finds himself incapable of doing so when Dan’s shimmering eyes bounce over his face—first to his lips, and then up to his eyes, and then back down to his lips. 

“Make me.” Dan’s warm breath fans over his finger and his molten eyes gaze at Phil beneath his eyelashes. 

Phil's stomach swoops, nerve endings erupting. Blood rushes in his ears. He can feel every syllable against the skin of his finger, and every fiber of his being wants to accept the invitation. Not to mention, that seductive drawl should be illegal. 

Somehow, though—after an excruciating pause in which Dan’s full lips were tingling beneath his finger and Dan’s eyes were practically pleading for him to make a move—he resists the dark pits of temptation and manages to lug Dan all the way to his room. His heart thumps all the way there, and he tries not to think about how willingly Dan’s hand clasps onto his own, slotting together like puzzle pieces. Fortunately, Dan doesn't try to make any more moves during their short trip. 

Once he finally bursts through Dan’s room, he finds that it's a wreck: clothes litter the floor, and every inch of the floor that isn't covered by clothing is covered by paperwork. His desk is even more cramped. An art textbook is splayed open, half-hearted sketches of geometric shapes spiraling over it. Pencils, pens, and eraser shavings are dotted along the smooth white surface, which can barely be seen under the layers and layers of notebooks and incoherent scrawlings. 

Luckily, Dan’s checkered bed is the only clean surface in the whole space, aside from the laptop that's neatly perched upon it. 

“Okay,” Phil breathes, heart jumping to his throat when Dan drags his thumb across the back of his hand. Phil wills himself to focus, saying his mission aloud: “Sleep. Now.” 

But his crystal eyes flutter shut when Dan trails his other hand over Phil’s bicep. Phil takes a sharp intake of breath as Dan murmurs, “Need ‘ta change m’clothes.” The warm breath flutters over the shell of his ear, which has Phil ripping away from their near-embrace, and sends Dan toppling over onto his bed. 

“Fuck. Sorry,” Phil pants, ears ringing. 

Dan sprawls himself out on his bed, lying on his back, and his hooded eyes rove up and down Phil’s body, which certainly doesn't help Phil’s already unstable breathing pattern. His top button is undone, revealing the golden-tanned skin underneath. The light catches onto his collarbones, entrancing Phil’s attention even further. His thick curls are wilder when matted with sweat, and when Dan cranes his neck and looks at Phil under thick lashes, the long column of his neck is put on full display. 

The dragon within Phil purrs deeply as heat swirls low in the pits of his stomach. Dan couldn't possibly know what showing your neck like that means to a dragon. It's an fucking open invitation, and it pulses within his bones. 

When Dan’s teeth sink into the fullness of his lower lip and he starts fidgeting restlessly on his bed, Phil has to stop his thoughts from running away from him. Because  _ fuck him into the mattress  _ is certainly not an appropriate thought to have about your  _ friend _ .

Phil's vision flickers, and the long column of Dan’s golden skin is suddenly covered in hickeys—splotchy and red and his  _ own _ . He barely holds back a growl, and when he blinks, Dan’s neck is spotless, back to normal, and Phil yearns to make his lust-dream a reality. Something dark and possessive curls inside his lungs and desire crawls inside his chest, clamping around his heart. 

_ Look away-look away-look the fuck away, Phil.  _

Phil tears his eyes away from the sharp jut of Dan’s collarbones and his dilated, lust-fogged eyes. Dan probably only eye-fucks him for ten seconds, but for Phil, it's more like ten agonizing years.

“S’okay,” Dan finally says softly as he stumbles up. He sways precariously for a few moments, and Phil wants to reach out so he doesn't fall over. But he doesn't think he’ll have the self-control to restrain himself from doing something unthinkably stupid if he does so.

Then Dan’s whiny voice rings out clearly, and Phil closes his eyes, shoving away any alternative contexts to the blissful hell of his subconscious. “ _ Philll,  _ I can't sleep in this,” Dan gesticulates wildly to his garments. Phil’s eyes treacherously admire the way Dan’s white dress-shirt clings to his frame and the way his thighs dizzyingly fill up the material of his black trousers. 

“Then change your clothes,” Phil nearly rumbles, pointedly avoiding Dan’s wanton gaze. He can feel Dan’s gaze burning all over his body. 

Dan’s voice is small when he stutters, “But… but I…” Dan drifts off, fiddling with his shirt and biting his lush lips. Phil has an absurd urge to bite it for him. He smacks himself internally.  _ This is fucking torture _ . The red patch on Dan’s cheek spreads over his whole face, tinting it a dark peony color. 

“You…” Dan starts, “turn around, you perv!” Before Phil can even stutter out a proper response, his vision erupts in stars and he falters back. A soft weight falls into his flailed hands. It's a pillow. Dan has thrown a pillow at him. Phil is surprised it didn't whizz past his head with Dan’s drunk aim.

“ _ Dan!” _ Phil exclaims once his ears stop ringing—now for a different reason—”I don't mean—look I'm going to bed ok? You can get yourself into bed on your own, right?”

“ _ No!” _

“Oh, bloody hell,” Phil mutters under his breath. 

Dan flushes a darker red, “Turn around.”

“F-fine I'll just…” Phil spins on his heel, “hurry up and change.” He feels his face flood with infuriating warmth.  _ You’re not even looking at him, Phil. You’re getting worked up over /this/? _ Then Phil wonders how ridiculous this must all look, with him turned around, and with Dan fumbling with his clothes behind him. He almost laughs, but it gets stuck in his throat once he hears the tell-tale ruffling of clothing, and the temptation to turn around is burning all of his logical senses. He wills his feet to stay planted to the carpeted floor and watches his toes turn yellow as they dig into the soft material. 

Phil's heart stutters as he hears the clunk of Dan’s belt dropping to the floor and he has to think of something else to distract himself from the image of Dan stripping right behind him in his own goddamn bedroom.

It feels like an eternity when Dan finally announces, “M’kay. Done, Phil.” Phil can barely hear it past the blood roaring in his ears. 

Besides, he knows better than to trust Dan in this state. Because from all of his encounters, Phil is certain that Dan is a horny drunk. Dan might be standing there like a wrapped present with a shiny red bow tacked on his golden skin, for all he could know. Phil’s skin buzzes hotly with the image, and  _ really? Why is my mind torturing me too?  _

Nonetheless, he turns around, albeit with some trepidation. A short burst of laughter erupts from his mouth, “Dan that's mine… I — how did you get my nightshirt?

Dan shrugs wordlessly and then flips onto his bed, humming softly. Phil’s breath hitches as his eyes shift over the length of Dan’s body. A sliver of golden skin peeks out over the band of his black Calvins. His tanned skin contrasts gloriously with the bold red material of his shirt, and Phil’s hands tingle with the desire to run them over the dimples of Dan’s back, up to his broad shoulders. Then his gaze flits downwards, and— _ damn _ those boxers are painted on him, outlining the curve of his ass. His boxers are definitely too short as well, and Phil’s eyes trail over the length of Dan’s long legs, which seem to extend on forever. Dan’s feet hang off the edge of the bed. 

Not to mention, Phil likes him in his bright red shirt more than he cares to admit. His inner dragon growls in his chest with the realization. He buries the thought away to the back of his mind. He can't be thinking of Dan like that. Since when did he get so…  _ possessive? _

Then his hand itches, and to his horror, he finds himself wanting nothing more but to slap the firm bubble of Dan’s ass and watch him shudder beneath his palm. But before Phil can reprimand his thoughts, Dan shifts again, this time singing his thoughts to a burnt crisp.

Phil watches with stolen breath and a gaping jaw as Dan perks his ass up, rising on all fours. His words are muffled into the bed-spread when he declares the words that don't hold a candle to any of Phil’s guilty fantasies. 

“Fuck me.”

Phil's jaw drops to the floor, and he feels every fiber of his being buzz with desire. His ears are ringing and his brain short-circuits as he feels himself twitch inside his trousers.  _ No no not good. Not good.  _ A hot fizz of sparks jolt up his spine—along with a few streaks of panic—and then his hands are moving on autopilot. 

Pale, deft fingers peel away the covers as Phil hastily shoves Dan underneath the checkered material. Dan whimpers softly, amber eyes opening for a split second before closing. Phil's eyes widen in disbelief. Dan had said that when he was seemingly half-asleep? 

_ See? He doesn't mean it, _ a snarky voice in Phil’s mind asserts.  _ Of course he doesn't; the boy is drunk, _ a more logical voice replies. Phil shakes them away. 

“Sleep, Dan. You won't remember this in the morning,” Phil murmurs softly as he tucks Dan in with shaky hands. He tries to ignore the harsh reality of his words as they echo in his mind. He tries to ignore the way his heart plummets. He tries to ignore the way his hands shake.

“‘Kay…” Dan's sighs, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Okay? G’nite, Dan.”

When Dan doesn't respond, Phil turns to leave, but then he jumps out of his skin when Dan’s warm hand slaps onto the pale skin of his wrist. 

“Phil,”  _ Don't say it don't say it please don't do it,  _ “Sleep with me?”

Phil's breath catches, and it's too painful. His vision blurs and he swallows around the lump in his throat. He knows Dan is not trying to be purposefully cruel, but it's too much for his poor heart to handle. Maybe the universe is just playing with him. He’s torn between jumping in next to Dan or sling-shooting out of the room. Neither of those options sound remotely acceptable. 

“Dan,” Phil chokes, “you-you don't know what you're saying right now… just—go to sleep. Please.” 

“But Phil—”

“ _ Please _ , Dan.” Phil’s vision blurs, and he's unable to meet Dan’s betrayed pout. He knows if Dan keeps trying, he'll cave, so he darts out of the room before he can do something he regrets.

The last thing he hears before he flings the door open is a small, "Sorry Phil. 'Nite.” 

Then Phil is lurching through the threshold, heart shattering into fragmented pieces, splinters piercing into the soft tissue. The broken shards climb to his throat, and he tries to swallow them down to no avail. Guilt twists in his stomach. Once he collapses on his bed, the tears finally emerge, rolling down the slope of his pale cheeks. He wipes them onto the soft material of his pillows. 

_ I can't tell my possibly-straight best friend that I'm in love with him.  _

Why did he have to fall in love with  _ Dan _ , of all people? Why  _ Dan? _ How could he be so stupid? Why couldn't he have fallen in love with someone who would love him back? With someone who’s not most-likely  _ straight? _ He’s known for getting into absurd situations, but this is a whole new level of absurdity. 

Besides, he knows he's fucked now. It's written all over his heritage. He remembers the hushed whispers of  _ Dragons can only fall in love once.  _ He remembers his parents lecturing him on the loaded topic. He remembers the consequences. 

His father's eyes were glimmering gray when he had told him, “Remember Phil, you must choose your mate carefully. You’ll only be able to fall in love once. Dragons are extremely loyal creatures, and—I know this must sound intimidating to you right now, but don't worry—we trust your judgement,” and Kath had added, “You’ll find a good mate, love. Don't worry about it too much.” Her smooth, leathery palm had reached out to sooth over Phil’s trembling hand. 

Well, fuck.  _ You’ve gone and done it now, Philip.  _ Because his heart has chosen its pick, and it's inevitable that he’ll die alone. But when the universe decides to play tricks on him and fuck with his mind by giving him false hope—evident through the events of the night—Phil can't help but feel that the forces of the world are just working against him. His feelings are being played with. It's  _ unfair _ . 

Phil sighs heavily and stares blankly at his ceiling, feeling a sudden numbness filling up his bones. Then he’s hit with the word Dan had uttered earlier on in the night. It pops into his mind out of nowhere. 

The words ring clearly in his muddled subconscious,  _ Y’know, when I figured out I was an incubus?  _ Phil thanks his lucky stars he doesn't know what an incubus is since it makes him feel lighter about what he's dubbed, ‘taking advantage of a drunk Dan at three am.’ 

But his innocuous laptop sits on the edge of his side table, and he's tempted to flip the damned thing open. His fingers itch to type the name in his search engine and his mind whirls  _ incubus…  _ has he heard it somewhere? He feels the wheels of his mind turn, but they’re weighed down by a thick fog of exhaustion.

No, he still isn't able to recall any instances of the word. He sighs, not knowing whether to feel disappointed or relieved, and allows the blissful fog to wash away his worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i guess mutual pining means suffering? poor phil that was painful to write
> 
> sorry for the late update, but finals week is this week so i might not update next friday either. luckily i have a week break after that so maybe i will update more than once in that week. we'll see :')  
> thank you for reading!!
> 
> tumblr @bluejazzberrys


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more disastery ;)  
> is that a word? now it is.  
> #someonehelpthem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some violence in this chapter, but not too much? at least for me?  
> But I grew up watching die-hard and the expendables, so maybe im biased.  
> Bottom line: there's blood. It's there. You have been warned.

Phil wakes up in damp, twisted sheets. The phantom taste of Dan tingles on his lips and he still feels lingering touches of warm hands on heated skin. 

He turns on his side, wincing as his length strains against the material of his boxers. Goddamnit, the timing is always great, as usual, Phil thinks dryly. He’ll never be able to have Dan, but that doesn't stop his traitorous mind from dreaming about him. 

Carefully, his hand drags towards his desire, hips stuttering into the light touch. He groans in dismay and buries his pink-stained face into his hands. 

Is he really doing this right now?

_ Yes. _

Phil’s no longer a sex beast, but the events of the last few days have left him quite… frustrated, to put simply. 

“Fuck,” Phil grunts as his hand dips beneath the elastic band of his boxers, finally indulging in delicious skin-on-skin contact, “ _ fuck. _ ”

His chest tightens, turmoil melding into the coffin surrounding his heart. Guilt surges inside his lungs, weighing him down, but he can't stop himself; the pleasure that sweeps over him in waves is almost overwhelming. Still, he can't help the rush of disappointment he feels towards himself. 

It's one thing to crush on your best friend; it's another thing conjure up sexual fantasies about said friend. And there's something undoubtedly wrong about masterbating to your best friend in the early hours of the morning. It’s kind of an unspoken rule. 

It's wrong. It’s unaccountable. It's undignified. 

And it's so, so deliciously  _ good _ . 

His moral compass has been hurled out the window, and any logical thought in his mind burns away as his hand slides up and down his length, molten heat flooding into his veins. Phil sighs softly as sparks flutter up his spine, bursting behind his scrunched eye-lids like fireworks. 

His thoughts drift to Dan - to his chocolate eyes, to his petal lips, to the patch of red on his cheek, to the glint of his earring. Phil can taste the metal on his tongue as he pictures sucking the soft lobe, the band of metal cool inside his heated mouth. 

He wonders if Dan would be pliant and blushing beneath him, arching his back while Phil presses wet kisses down to the jut of his hip-bones. Or maybe he’ll be snarky and feisty, tugging at Phil’s hair, and demanding to  _ get on with it already. Stop teasing.  _

Phil takes a sharp intake of breath. He finds he's more than okay with either option—if they  _ were  _ options, that is. 

Phil swipes his tongue across his palm and plunges it back down to wrap around the flushed skin of himself. His hand is warm and wet and it prompts him to think about Dan, and Dan and specifically Dan’s mouth. Phil's breath hitches, and his teeth sink into his lower lip as he holds back his moan. He can't unsee it now that thought has bombarded into his brain. 

He wonders if Dan would look at him with wanton, doe-eyes as his slick mouth envelopes Phil’s length. The thick curve of his eyelashes would cast shadows on his high cheekbones, and his lips would be swollen red. Maybe Dan would just deepthroat him straight away. He'll probably be perfectly capable; Phil has seen him fit his whole fist into his mouth at some point in his life—he's definitely capable. Phil chokes on his breath, and then hisses as his thumb brushes harshly over his foreskin. 

A puff of hot air escapes him when he thinks of the moment when Dan had demanded him to fuck him, his ass propped into the air. He remembers their food fight the other day, and he remembers the sounds Dan had emitted. He wouldn't be surprised if their neighbors thought they were up to no good: fucking. Dan would make those sounds, too. He's heard him moan, he's heard his whimpers. Phil wonders if he’ll sound the same when he's pinned down to a mattress, or when he's filling him up. 

And then he sees himself sliding into Dan’s slick heat, and all thoughts in his mind are singed, and he's thrown off by how hard he's suddenly coming. The tidal wave of his orgasm takes him by surprise, and his jaw falls open, a hot breath escaping his panting mouth. Toes curling, Phil sees a cacophony of colors bursting into the dark abyss underneath his closed eyes. He melts into the sticky sheets, Dan’s name trailing from his lips, along with a string of expletive profanities that would cause the bravest souls to blush, and he's left on his tangled bedsheets, breathless and sweaty, and warm, and  _ fuck _ ,  _ I'm royally fucked.  _ He lies there in his own mess for a few minutes, waiting for the tingling haze to dissolve. 

Once his jelly-limbs have learned to move, he looks down at the mess on his chest, cringing at the wetness. Shame creeps into his rib cage, squeezing around his lungs and clamping around his heart with a vice-grip. 

He wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at Dan the same again. 

He swallows around the lump in his throat and rises on shaky legs. His mouth feels dry and his stomach churns. He starts towards the shower, stomach lurching sickeningly to his chest as his mind berates him, calling him things like  _ creep! Perv! Monster! Freak!  _

Eyes burning, he finally allows the stubborn tear to fall from his right eye, past the curve of his lip. The voices are right; he  _ is _ a creep. Dan is his friend, goddamnit. He closes his eyes and sucks in a breath, willing the tears to get absorbed back into the staticness of his brain. His head swims, and he feels sick, in all aspects. He has a strong urge to scratch at his skin and to burn any evidence off his body. He turns the shower on max heat and watches the steam clouds puff out and seep into the ceiling.

_ Who am I kidding; I’ll never be able to look at Dan the same again, _ is his last thought before the inevitable wrack of silent sobs emulate through his shuddering body, the broken sounds drowned out by the thundering of the shower. 

***

A small bowl of cereal is something Dan can eat without throwing it right back up. Its sugary crunch fills up the weighted air.

They sit on the breakfast bar. Dan knows his hangover isn't the only reason the air feels suffocating. The silence throws him off. He's frustrated with his lack of memory. What had he done last night? Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good. He reckons he ought to apologize. 

-

“Phil… whatever happened last night, I’m sorry.” Dan swallows, “I didn't mean any of it.”

Phil knows this. But it still feels like the universe is testing him. He still feels his stomach surge to his chest. 

“That's alright, Dan,” he mumbles over a mouthful of crunchy-nut, “It was actually kinda funny.” Phil’s lips quirk upwards in an effort to smile. His eyes are almost gray in the bright morning light when they glance to the side. 

“Oh god, what did I do,” Dan asks, but phrases it as a statement of trepidation. 

Phil giggles, and it doesn't feel too forced this time, “You were convinced it was sunny outside, and you—remember that horrid sombrero hat thing you got from that—”

“Yeah?” A crease forms on Dan’s forehead.

“You put that hat on me, and then you also got these sunglasses,” Phil pauses when he's struck with a memory, a light dusting of pink making its way to his pale cheeks, “‘cuz, apparently I look  _ oh-so-hot  _ in glasses.” 

-

Dan squeaks, a dark red blush blooming over high cheekbones.  _ Fuck, but it's true though,  _ a small voice whispers in his brain. He wants to murder it. He buries his heated face into his hands and groans, “Oh my  _ god _ . Sorry, Phil.”

“It’s fine; it was cute,” Phil smirks when he sees the gaps between Dan’s fingers burn a brighter red. He doesn't know why that had slipped out. Maybe he just wants to watch Dan squirm as some form of twisted pay-back. So Phil continues, “You also told Cat to ‘back-off,’ Dan. Since when were you so possessive?”

“I _did?!”_ Dan squeals, “This is so much worse than I was expecting, fucking hell.” 

In truth, though, it isn't. He was expecting a lot worse. A small bubble of relief filters through his chest because he tends to do stupid things when he's drunk, and that doesn't seem too bad—for once. But maybe it’s too soon to think like that, because when he blurts, “What else did I do?” He sees the light drain out of Phil’s lake blue eyes. 

Silence fills the air. The clang of their spoons and the rippling of milk can only be heard. 

Dan wonders if he did something stupid, like try to kiss Phil again. He wouldn't be surprised; he had done it before, after all. The memory is so distant it almost feels like a dream. Nonetheless, it still causes a streak of heat to invade his bloodstream, and he ignores the implication, reminding himself that it's just the hunger of an incubus. He seems to be doing that a lot these days.

-

Before Phil can stop himself, his mind spits,  _ You wanted me to fuck you and then I jerked off to it.  _ Phil’s cereal turns to sawdust in his mouth. He finds it hard to swallow, and suddenly he's not hungry anymore. 

“Nothing, uh. You went to sleep after that.” The milk tastes bitter on his tongue. 

Dan hums, a thoughtful look flitting across his face. 

The screech of a chair against the linoleum almost makes Dan flinch. “I have to go now.” Phil turns towards the sink, “I got a linguistics assignment to work on, and uh—I'll… see ya later,” Phil says in a rush of shuffled words as he throws his dish into the sink and scurries away. 

Dan frowns. He's definitely missing something here, he thinks.

***

Phil isn't really sure how it happens. One moment he’s casually strolling through the school grounds; the next he’s pummeling Anthony's teasing, infuriating smirk into the ground, blood roaring in his ears, along with the crowd’s savage chanting,  _ “Fight! Fight! Fight!” _

-

Dan had been in the library, scrolling through tumblr, but not looking directly at his vibrant screen; it just passed beyond his eyes, flitting on and on in a blur of images and word texts. He was too lost in the events of the morning.  _ Why did Phil leave like that? What else happened last night? Why isn't Phil telling the whole truth? There has to be more to that. Where even is Phil? _

But his thoughts fly out of his mind when he hears the commotion. 

“Hey!” Someone calls. Dan glances up from his phone, dread already tightening in his chest. “Have you seen what yer boyfriend’s up to?” A red-haired, freckled boy grins at him from the front of the library. He's immediately shushed by Mr. Stark, the shrewd librarian. 

Dan's entire face erupts into flames as he feels the head-turns of the whole library burn holes into him. “W-we’re not boyfriends,” he whisper-yells. It falls on deaf ears. 

“It's quite the spectacle,” a girl from a neighboring table muses as she turns her phone screen towards him. Dan only sees Phil lug the life out of some poor sucker in the face, before he's surging to his feet and striding outside, his legs carrying him to his destination. He follows the clamoring sounds of the students, and his nose crinkles; the smell that floods into his nostrils is the poignant, coppery-metallic smell of blood.

What had Phil gotten himself into now? His heart soars as he finds the sea of raucous people, and he starts to shove to the front. By the time he gets there, he's gasping for air, but he can now see the full “spectacle.” 

It's Phil and Anthony. They’re in the gym. The golden wooden planks are shiny as they reflect the bright lights of the room. A crowd watches from afar, but most of them are broadcasting the fight from mobile phones. It makes hot anger spark in his chest. And it only intensifies when he spots Cat standing a few feet away from him. 

“Finally decided to show up?” Her voice is flat. She stands there with crossed arms, a look of disdain melded onto her features. Louise stands next to her, her baby blue eyes wide and concerned. Her hands fumble together before pulling at the ends of her frilly dress. 

His fingers clench; why is Cat just  _ standing  _ there when she can put her manipulation magic to use?

“ _ What are you doing?  _ Stop them!” 

She scowls, “You think I haven't tried already?” Dan purses his lips. “Besides,” Cat continues, “only pixies—” she jerks a thumb at Louise— “have the right manipulation magic to stop those idiots. Incubi and succubi specialize in seduction manipulation. You wouldn't want the world to see that, now, would you?” She turns to him with raised eyebrows. 

“N-no.” It isn't the first time Dan suddenly feels ill-suited for this. He hates it. He hates being an incubus. He hates that he’s still in that awkward in-between phase, in which he’d neither fit in with the demons or the humans. He’s just a blob. Preoccupied with his spiraling thoughts, his brain ghosts over the fact that Louise is apparently a pixie. 

Louise, twirling a finger around a strawberry-blond lock, speaks up, “Phil’s blocking my magic out. I don't know how he's doing it; I think it's some dragon thing.” 

Dan nods distractedly, his eyes not moving from the fight. He winces as Anthony hauls a punch squarely on Phil’s jaw. Phil stumbles back, blue eyes blazing with fury, before jumping on Anthony, glaring daggers into his skin. 

“Well, we can't just stand here and wait for them to kill each other,” Dan frowns. “Phil!” He calls. 

“Don't waste your breath,” Cat side-eyes, “He can't hear you.” 

“What? Why?” Besides the fact that his voice is immediately drowned out by the hollers of the crowd, Phil’s super-hearing should still be able to pick up on it.

“They're too immersed. The only way to break them up would be to get down there and physically do it.” 

“Fucks’ sake.” He pauses, hating the miserable helplessness that sinks into his bones. After a beat, he thumps down the stairs leading to the arena, his heart rattling in his ribcage.

Cat’s fingertips bleed yellow as she grips the railing, “It's futile, Dan! Suicide!” 

He ignores her and patters across the embellished floor. A sickening crunch echoes in the space. Dan watches Anthony stumble back into the wall. Blood bubbles from the corner of Anthony’s mouth, and his gray shirt is stained with maroon patches and sweat blotches. Three bold streaks dig into the muscle of his right bicep. Dan errantly wonders if Phil has sprouted talons or something. But his gaze is pinned to the damage on Anthony’s battered skin. The rivulets on his arm gush out, dripping shallowly to the floor. 

Phil wrangles his collar as he backs Anthony up to the wall, and Dan watches as Anthony’s hands scramble over Phil’s wrist. His fingertips burn white, and a flicker of fear passes over Anthony’s brown eyes. When he crashes into the wall, a dollop of bright red blood flies to the ground with a wet splatter, decorating the smooth floors like a paintball gun decorates a sheet of linen. 

Then Phil is holding Anthony by the neck, and the room fills with the sound of Anthony’s retched gurgling.

Somehow, though, a brutal smile twists over Anthony’s bruised face. His right eye is closed in a perpetual state of faded blue, and his voice is hoarse as he wheezes out, “Ah, look who t’is. The subject of this grand—” 

“Shut it,” Phil seethes, tightening his grasp. His voice is a deadly slap, brimming with poison. They struggle for a minute, and Dan’s heart stutters when he hears a broken gasp emit from Anthony's mouth. 

“Stop using your-” Anthony’s interrupted by a broken wheeze, “your fffucking eye-tricks on me,” Anthony strains as he glares towards the ceiling. Dan’s mind whirls, wondering if he should intervene, but then his chest lurches as the light drains out of Anthony’s hazel eyes. His ears ring with warning bells. 

“Stop! You’ll kill him!” Wavering violently, Dan’s shrill voice echoes in the prolonged, suffocating silence that follows. There seems to be an audible gasp from the surrounding audience. And maybe he can hear Cat face-palm, but he’s too bothered to care.

Phil pauses to look over his shoulder. Dan’s breath hitches as he sees the hard glint in Phil’s eyes. They hold such a ferocity that if it were anyone else, they would have burst into tears and ran for their life. Dan almost wants to clap a hand over his own mouth for uttering the impulsive words. 

But it's Dan, and Dan is not just  _ anyone _ ; he  _ knows  _ Phil won't hurt him. He wouldn’t. Although, it's almost scary to see how much anger Phil holds in his ethereal, pulsefire eyes. It's the same eyes he sees in his dreams: the dragon eyes. They're icy blue, flickering like a flame. 

The eyes turn back, and Phil’s fingertips whiten as they clench around Anthony’s throat. Dan’s heart jumps in his throat when he hears another broken gasp from Anthony. 

“ _ Phil!” _

Dan’s pinned to the ground as Phil whips his head around once more, his eyes piercing holes into Dan’s skin.  _ Phil won't hurt you. He wouldn't.  _ But that doesn't stop the streaks of fear from rushing into Dan’s veins. His heart shudders like a thin leaf in the wind. Phil is looking at him like he's a different person—like he can't see him. Dan’s arm darts out without his permission, his palm brushing over Phil’s shaking shoulder. 

At the slight contact—as soon as Dan’s fingertips graze Phil’s shoulder—the ice in Phil’s crystal orbs melt, and the crazed edges soften. Dan’s hand stops trembling. Anthony falls to the ground in a questionable—and worrying—lump of lifeless clothing. 

He’s only able to catch a blend of guilt and disappointment in Phil’s royal blue orbs, before Phil’s head dips down in shame. 

“Dan,” Phil whispers, his voice a broken husk of what it was before, “I’m sorry.”

Dan frowns and swallows past the cotton ball in his throat. His hand clasps onto Phil’s clammy one, “C’mon.” 

He drags him through the screeching, through the flashes, through the floating smartphones, through the school grounds, past Cat, past Louise, past the library, past the invasively curious gazes, all the way back—all the while as Phil incessantly apologizes, murmuring strings of  _ I'm a monster, I'm a monster, I’m a m-  _

“You're  _ not _ a monster,” Dan grounds firmly, practically stomping up the stairs to their flat. 

Their feet clunk on the floor. Dan hadn't bothered with taking his shoes off; every fiber of his being works to heal Phil. It's engraved into his bones; it's his personal mission. 

They burst into the bathroom. The marble surface shines beneath the bright lights. 

“Sit.” 

Phil clambers onto the marble, his shoulders weighed down by self-deprecation, “Dan—I’m s—”

“Shh,” Dan fishes for the first aid kit, and then straightens up to finally survey the damage. Phil clacks his mouth shut, his teal eyes flitting down to the sink. Pale hands fumble together over black skinny jeans. “Don't apologize,” Dan murmurs as he surveys the damage. 

It's not much—certainly not as much as Anthony’s. A light showering of bruises are beginning to bloom over the sharp angles of his cheekbones. A strip of blood runs from his mouth, but it doesn't drip off the slope of his chin. It's not internal bleeding; it's just a cut on his mouth. Phil’s teeth worries over pink lips—lips that suddenly seem extremely soft and pillowy and perfect for—Dan’s breath catches as he instantly cuts off his train of thought. Clearing his throat, Dan drags his eyes up to Phil’s, which are flooded with guilt and flecks of pain. 

Dan, swallowing thickly, internally reprimands himself. He needs to focus. “Phil, please. Don't blame yourself. You’re not a monster.” Phil stares at him, a flash of bewilderment filtering into his eyes, before reverting back to remorse. Something instinctive tugging in Dan’s gut senses that it's not the only thing that's bothering Phil. There’s something else. His hand darts out to Phil’s shoulder, “What is it?” 

Phil shudders, “If only you  _ knew _ . If only you knew the things he was saying about you, Dan. It was—it was…  _ despicable. _ ” Phil spits the word out. Then he resumes biting his lip, “I've gotten myself in a proper mess, haven't I.” 

Dan frowns, wondering if he should push. For now, he focuses on the gash on Phil’s lip. “Don't worry about it. I'm going to patch you up now, okay Phil? Stay still.” He takes a cotton ball and dabs it gingerly onto the corner of Phil’s mouth. Phil releases his lip from where it's caught between his teeth. Dan can’t help but silently marvel at the softness of Phil’s lower lip as his thumb brushes over it, and then again berates himself and his treacherous thoughts. 

When Phil sucks in a sharp, shuddery breath, Dan frowns. The wound must be more painful than it looks. 

Wetting a cloth, Dan continues to meticulously patch up Phil’s wounds. He wipes a cut on Phil’s forearm with disinfectant. Then a thought strikes him. “How come your wounds don't automatically heal?” 

“When two superhumans fight, they don't heal as quickly. They still heal faster than normal humans though.” Phil’s breath flutters over Dan’s cheekbones—when did they get so close?

Dan nods, and his fingers brush against the pale skin of Phil’s forearm, where he begins bandaging. 

“Dan, you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he interrupts. Phil’s eyes flutter as Dan’s fingers smoothe over the bandaid. Dan hopes his fingers don’t linger on the muscle of Phil’s arm longer than necessary. He needs to say something before Phil notices, “By the way, what was Anthony saying about your eyes?” 

“My eyes?” The said azure orbs flick up. 

“He said something about eye tricks, I think.”

“Oh…” Phil’s face turns a curious shade of pink, and Dan can feel the embarrassment radiating from his hunched figure, “erm… it's nothing, really.” 

“Mate, just tell me,” Dan pauses, stopping his work, amusement twinkling in his own eyes. 

“Really, Dan, it’s nothing…” Phil can't seem to meet Dan’s eyes, “besides, it's sort of… strange.”

“ _ Phil.” It’s probably not as bad as being an incubus,  _ Dan wants to say. He can’t say that though. Instead, he goes with, “Try me.”

Phil sighs defeately, “ _ Fine _ … basically, dragons have this… this intimidation tactic. Our eyes can scare others into submission, and we become invulnerable.” So that’s why Louise’s spell wasn’t working; Phil was blocking her out. “It's pretty powerful, actually,” Phil is saying, “but you can't use it too much ‘cuz people will start fearing you, and no one wants that,” he grimaces. “When others see it, they have this innate fear; it's terrifying for them.” 

Dan quirks an eyebrow, utterly intrigued with the revelation, “Wow… that's…” 

“Weird? Creepy? Monster-y?” 

“No! Fucks’ sake, Phil. If you call yourself a monster again…” 

“I  _ am _ one, Dan.” Phil shakes his head, “You wouldn’t know. You haven't seen the eyes.” 

Dan snorts, “Phil. You couldn't scare a fucking ant, let alone me.” 

“You wanna test that, mate?” Said eyes spark with challenge, but then Phil immediately backtracks, “I mean—never mind I don't want you running away from me.” 

“I won’t run away.”

“But you will,” Phil says to his own fidgeting hands, “it'll scare you.” 

Dan’s hand laces around Phil’s wrist, stopping his movement, “Do it.” 

“No.” 

“ _ Phil _ ,” Dan huffs, looking away, before boring his gaze back into Phil’s, albeit unsuccessfully. Phil's eyes seem to be stubbornly avoiding his own, “Show me.”

“No.” 

“Please?” 

That seems to draw Phil’s gaze up. Their eyes lock, blue against brown. Dan’s about to ask Phil again, but something inherent tells him that Phil's already using them; he's using  _ the eyes _ . But for some reason, Dan can't feel a hint of fear; in fact, his breath stops functioning as Phil’s shimmering ocean gaze burns into his body, a spark of electric heat flooding up his spine. Oh.

_ Those _ are the eyes? 

His legs feel weak, and a wave of heat flares into the dense air around them. Dan’s eyes are wide, and to his horror, he feels them dilate. A small ring of chocolate surrounds the black holes. Warmth pools low in his stomach, and Dan’s teeth habitually bite down onto the skin of his lip. A surge of sparks flutter through his spine, and his breath hitches as Phil’s nose touches the curve of his own nose, their breaths mingling together. When did they get so  _ close? _

Phil is looking at him like a predator, and Dan sure doesn’t mind being the prey. Blood roars in his ears. The eyes pull him in like magnets, and turn his brain into a murky fog. Dan’s chest heaves, and Phil’s mouth parts. They can taste each other's breath. Tingles break out along Dan’s skin as the molten eyes caress over his face and down to his lips.  _ He's going to kiss me. He's going to kiss me.  _

They're hypnotizing; Dan is close enough to see the faint streaks of pale green meld into the icy blue, ethereal orbs, and glowing ring of gold encompassing the rich, violet-jaded hues. Dan can see the reflection of his own eyelashes in the depths of Phil’s dazzling eyes. The room spins, and Dan’s hand falls on Phil’s shoulder. Phil is still staring intently at him. Dan’s lips are hovering agonizingly over Phil’s bitten ones. 

Phil's nose twitches, and his face twists. Dan’s heart thuds up his throat when he wonders if Phil can physically smell the arousal radiating from his body. His breath seizes as Phil surges forwards, groaning into Dan’s shoulder, which has Dan shuddering, a burst of desire flooding through his blood. Gooseflesh erupt all over his skin as Phil’s groan reverberates through his collarbone. His words tickle the skin there, “ _ Dan,  _ you smell…  _ so _ …  _ fuck _ .” Dan crushes the material over Phil’s shoulder with a white-knuckle grip. Heat sizzles in his stomach because if that's Phil's reaction to his only his  _ smell… _

Phil shifts back upwards, and Dan’s breath leaves him again when those eyes graze over his heated skin, and he should be repulsed by the faint taste of salty blood and bitter antiseptic, but it only builds to the hot fire pulsing through his skin even more. He can taste it against his tingling mouth, Phil is  _ so close _ , and Dan’s gasps as he feels the feather-light brush of Phil’s lips against his own, and—

The screech of the door to their apartment has Dan’s pulse fluttering in his throat, and they immediately wrench apart. Dan’s stomach surges as a wave of deep-rooted agony fizzles from the pits of his stomach, washing over his prickling skin. The spell shatters like jagged glass. He tries to control his shuddering breath and his heaving chest, to no avail.

Immediately, Dan’s shaking hand flies to the gauze, which is rolled up in a forgotten heap of cloth on the side of the sink. He haphazardly starts wrapping it around Phil’s wrist, even though Phil’s wrist is free of all wounds. It doesn’t matter. Dan needs to do something with his hands. Otherwise he’s at risk for doing something unbearably stupid. Like throwing himself at the breathless man before him. 

Phil frowns down at the bandage, but doesn't comment on it. Their gazes meet, and then skitter away. Agonizing sparks shooting through Dan’s spine, he imagines they must seem like they’re trying not to look like they’re drowning in tortuous sexual tension. 

Cat bursts through the bathroom door, “Phil! I know Anthony’s a dick, so I'm here to tell you that—oh.” 

“Oh,” Dan echoes, trying to steady his shaky fingers on the thin, papery,  _ useless  _ material wrapping around Phil’s pale wrist. 

“How did you get in?” Phil’s voice is bordering on a sharp edge of annoyance; it's practically a snap. Dan bites his lip, trying to hold in a delirious bubble of laughter. He's drunk on Phil’s proximity. 

“I can… pick locks,” Cat shrugs.

Phil speaks, and Dan can tell he’s pissed, “Well picking locks is an invasion of privacy, Cat. Why are you even here?” Dan doesn't want to analyze what Phil’s frustration means (particularly,  _ why _ Phil is so frustrated), but he can’t stop his heart from flipping in his chest. Still struggling to hide the smile twitching at his lips, Dan continues fiddling with the white, papery material on Phil’s wrist. 

“Look, Phil, I didn't come here to fucking argue. I came here to give you advice, and frankly, if you're going to be an asshole about it, you can—”

Phil’s lips twist into a scowl, “I'm not the one who rudely barged into someone's dorm, immediately after they experienced physical trauma.” 

“Oh, it was physical trauma for  _ you? _ Imagine what it was like for Anthony.” 

“Are you coming here to defend him? Is that what this is?”

Cat’s eyes widen, “No—! I was just—”

“Look, Cat,” Dan’s hands raise in front of him, a sign of peace, “This bathroom isn't big enough for the three of us. Clearly. It was already suffocating with us two to begin with ‘cuz we’re freaking giants. Please, just leave.” 

“But—”

“Fucking hell,” Dan steers Cat out of the bathroom, and practically slams the door on her protesting form. He considers locking the door, but it's useless since Cat can apparently pick locks. 

Dan turns back to Phil, and his hand reaches out to cup his pale face. He silently marvels at the smoothness of the delicate arch of Phil’s cheekbones as his thumb smooths over it, “Hey, it's okay. Just forget about what Anthony said.” 

Sighing, Phil runs a hand over the pulse on Dan’s wrist. Dan, very aware of the hand that’s still resting on Phil’s high cheekbone, swallows thickly, his heart stirring in his chest. 

“You don't understand, Dan… it was like… he was talking about you like you were some kind of fucking— _ object, _ like you were just some… some boy-toy.” Phil shudders, “the things he said… he's sick, Dan, I didn't think anyone could ever say that.”

Dan’s thumb continues running along the smooth slope of Phil’s cheek, “It's okay, Phil,”  _ I'm used to it,  _ “you don't have to get angry because of me. I'm not that important.”

Phil’s hand tightens around Dan’s wrist, and his eyebrows furrow, “Of course you’re important,” he says flippantly. His thumb keeps tracing around his wrist, keeps grazing above his pulse, “You're  _ Dan. _ ” 

Dan’s breath halts in his lungs as Phil utters his name. His heart thunders, blood singing in his ears. The way Phil had said it with such sincerity, his eyes certain with the statement. The calling of his name, a call so earnest and heartfelt. It feels as if Phil has plunged his hand around Dan’s heart and has just  _ squeezed. _ As if his heart is jumping from a hot-air balloon, flying along with a parachute.

Phil’s eyes darken, and Dan’s breath hitches. His tongue drags along his lower lip, entrancing Dan closer into Phil’s personal space. Dan’s lungs are malfunctioning, and the crackling heat returns with three times the prickling force. He feels light-headed as heat seeps into his skin, pouring through him like molten lava oozing from the lips of the hottest volcano. 

Suddenly, their foreheads meet, and Dan realizes it would be so easy to bring Phil’s face to his own, to finally feel the press of his lips mesh along with his own in desperate craving. 

“ _ Phil,”  _ Dan breathes, his brain sluggish with a concoction of desire and something else too complex to analyze.  _ Kiss me,  _ Dan wants to say,  _ fucking do it already.  _

Dan jumps out of his skin when Phil’s pale hand—the one that isn't caressing his wrist—flies to his flushed face, his hand cupping his cheek. Dan eyelashes flutter as Phil’s thumb smooths across his littering of freckles over his rosy skin.  _ Finally, finally— _

Three firm, declarative, harsh,  _ cursed _ knocks ring against the wooden door. Phil buries his face into Dan’s neck, his groan now more frustrated than the previous seductive rumble. 

Sighing, Dan gives up; he can practically feel the tangible moment slipping out of his grasp. The universe clearly doesn't want this _ — _ whatever  _ this _ is _ — _ to happen. 

Then the turmoiled emotions that are always buzzing deep in his subconscious flood over as Cat’s voice filters through, “You guys better not be fucking around in there.” 

His mind spins and he barely hears Phil’s scoff over the cacaphony of ringing in his ears. He was just about to kiss Phil. And he almost allowed it. He almost allowed the incubus to take over. Hell, he  _ wanted  _ it. Every fiber of his being wanted it. 

Or at least the incubus wanted it. His stomach knots. His brain is giving him whiplash; one moment he wants to kiss the life out of Phil, the next he wants to rip away from their embrace. Because he doesn't know if the attraction is from the incubus or from his true emotion, and it's driving him to the dark pits of insanity _.  _ It's not the first time he's hated being an incubus, and it certainly won't be the last. For now though, he doesn't want to dwell on it. Without his permission, he moves away from Phil’s warmth, his wrist slipping from Phil’s grasp. He opens the door, and raises his eyebrows as he meets Cat’s gaze.

“Dan, can I speak to Phil now?” She deadpans. 

Dan restrains himself from rolling his eyes as he steps aside rigidly, “he's all yours.” She sends him a wary glance, but turns to look at Phil.

“Look, Phil, I'm sorry about before. I just wanted to say that Anthony's an idiot, and I'm sure he didn't mean anything he said. He just took out his anger on someone he could, because he couldn't take it out on me. I was giving him the cold shoulder, y’see. We were fighting and you got dragged into it, so I just wanted to say sorry… for that.” She glances at Dan again, “Sorry, Dan.” 

Dan shrugs, not knowing how to respond. His brain is still mulling over the almost-kiss fiasco. Cat frowns at his blank face, and opens her mouth to say something.

She never gets to say it because Phil speaks, his voice soft, “It's not your fault. It’s Anthony’s,” he retorts, a scowl darkening his features. 

She nods, “Maybe one day he’ll get over himself and his…” her eyes, turn murderous, voice going hard, “his egotistical, bastard-self.” She huffs, gaining composure, “For now, you can just accept my apology.”

Phil stares at her, a frown still etched onto his face, “It’s not your fault,” he repeats, “but I forgive you anyway, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeezus wonder what anthony said hmmMMmm
> 
> Thank you for your kudos/comments!! thank you sooo much <3  
> I love reading them :) they make my day :) so thank you :) very much <3  
> and yes, they are very disasterybois  
> another late update but FINALS WEEK IS OVER YALL BLESSS. ok ill try to get back on schedule now >.<  
> and so i should be able to update by friday, so cya then <3
> 
> tumblr @bluejazzberrys


	17. Chapter 17

Class is tense for a week after that, but tensions gradually smooth away as the days wear on. Sure, a video of Dan intervening and dragging Phil all over campus grounds has spread like wildfire through social media, but that’s to be expected. It’s not even mentioned anymore though. Time is the best healer, after all. 

News of Phil and Anthony fades away to the past. It's mid-December and students are more than ready for the winter holidays. 

But one morning when Phil wakes up, Dan is gone. He’s not on his bed, he hasn’t sent any texts, and he’s not in the bathroom, or the kitchen, or the lounge, or… anywhere. He's  _ gone _ .

They’ve always walked to class together, so it’s a bit strange to walk alone today. However, Phil doesn’t overthink it - well, he  _ tries _ not to overthink it. Dan is a grown boy; Phil shouldn’t be worried about him. And Phil isn’t a clingy boyfriend, so he shouldn’t be overly put-off by it. Except he is worried, and he is put-off. Slightly.

The air is chilly, biting at his cheeks, and a thin sheet of snow covers the ground. When he enters the building, he usually loves being engulfed by the deliciously thick pulse of toasty, warm air, but today he doesn't even feel it; he's numbed to the bone, and not only because of the bitter cold. He’s one of the first people to arrive in the barren classroom - not even the professor is present. 

Phil glances around and spots a broad-shouldered, long-haired brunette fiddling with a fidget spinner. Dan knows him, right? What’s his name, again-?  _ James _ , his brain supplies. Phil approaches him tentatively; some people are still wary of his “violent tendencies” because of his fight with Anthony. It's almost laughable, but Phil accepts that they have some reason; Anthony had to stay in the hospital for days because of him. Phil tries not to dwell on that too much.

And Phil notices the withering stares in the halls, the murmurings of  _ did you see what he did to Anthony?  _ Or even something as simple as,  _ here he comes.  _ Sometimes Phil wishes his sense of hearing wasn't so great - but he  _ is _ a dragon, and they have the best senses among all superhuman classifications. Goddamnit.

Phil inhales steadily, “Hey, uh. James, right?” he starts, palms beginning to feel sweaty. It’s too early for human communication, goddamnit. James flicks his steel eyes up from the fidget spinner, which stops spinning. Phil takes his silence as a confirmation and continues, “Erm, have you seen… Dan?”

“Howell?”

Phil nods, hoping he doesn’t look too much like an eager puppy.

James hums thoughtfully and then sends him an easy grin, “Oh yeah. Him… you guys make a cute couple.”

Phil splutters out an unintelligible response, desperately hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels, “That’s not - we’re not - I’m not his boyfriend.”

James’s eyes widen in alarm, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. I just thought-”

“It’s fine,” Phil brushes off, hoping it doesn't sound as dismissive as it feels. Honestly, it’s not the first time something like this has happened. They’ve always been grouped (mostly shipped) together as friends, or as boyfriends, and Phil has gotten used to presumptuous comments about their relationship. It just hurts a little more now. “Have you seen him, then?”

“Nah, sorry. Did something happen?”

Phil shrugs, “No. I dunno. Thanks anyway, mate.”

“Yeah, no problem… mate,” James replies, testing the word with his american accent, and then abruptly snorting.

Phil smiles politely, “Well, erm, I’ll… see ya ‘round… I guess… ” Goddamnit, why is he so awkward? James just nods, though, and returns back to fidget-spinning. Phil watches the device whizz around his finger for a moment. There’s a hidden metaphor for his emotions in there - it’s probably too dramatic; something like,  _ my life is spinning out of control _ \- but Phil is too tired to analyze it. He turns around to find his table. PJ and Chris have arrived now, which slightly eases Phil’s -  _ what? Am I seriously getting worked up about this? -  _ anxiety. 

“What’s up?” PJ asks immediately after Phil sinks down in his seat. Although PJ doesn’t say it, Phil can practically hear the echo of  _ what’s wrong? _ in PJ’s simple question. Phil sighs. Looks like he’s visibly distressed as well. Great.

“Nothing, Dan’s missing.”

“You two had a domestic?” Chris leans forward.

Phil shrugs and turns his attention to Professor Craft, who starts reciting the plan for the day. He can’t focus though. His mind is racing and it’s too difficult to concentrate.

Where is Dan?

***

“You don’t know that,” brown eyes flare as a hand slams down on the coffee table.

“Dan, open your eyes, goddamnit,” Cat groans. They’ve been arguing for the past hour in Cat’s dorm. “Anthony told me about it. He  _ has to _ .”

“So what? Just ‘cuz he’s a little protective means he’s in  _ love _ with me? No. That’s not how it works, Cat.” Dan, taking a deep breath, tries to keep his heartbeat under control.

“I didn’t say  _ in love _ , Dan,” Cat smirks slyly, and Dan feels his stomach surge into his chest, a burst of bitter frustration bubbling through him. 

His hand curls into a fist, “Fucks’ sake, you-”

“Hey, watch it, Howell. I'm your Lilith, remember?” 

Dan rubs a hand over his forehead, aiming to stop the everloving drumming in there, “You literally give me a _fucking_ _headache_ ,” he finally spits out. 

Cat rolls hey eyes, “Dan, just accept it. Phil might have a thing for you - he likes you, goddamnit - and you should act on it.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Dan snaps, “I'm not taking advantage of him like that.”

“You're being ridiculous, Dan,” exasperation rings in her voice, “This is a question of your own  _ life _ , not your friend’s preference.” Dan opens his mouth to refute, but Cat, eyebrows furrowed, speaks over him, “And  _ besides,  _ it's not like he's  _ not _ into you, you idiot. He's  _ totally _ into you.”

For some reason, Dan’s heart starts pounding in his ears. “Phil. Doesn't. Like. Me,” he grits out stubbornly. Why is he constantly denying it, with such vehemence?

Dan swallows thickly, painful memories lancing through his mind. Memories threaded with remorse, memories of bullying Phil ever single second of his freshman year. Those memories constantly tear him up everyday, but he's always shoved them to the back of his subconscious. He's always ignored them. But now Cat is bringing them back out, and the fresh memories surface in his brain - like fresh, open wounds - without his permission, and his heart chips painfully, guilt eating him up from the inside. He bites his lip. “Phil doesn’t like me. He has no reason to,” Dan’s voice brims with finality. 

Cat only raises a dubious eyebrow, and Dan feels a flood of irritation enter his veins. How would  _ Cat  _ know _? _ He should probably tell Cat to stop talking, but it's too late; the memories are already back. She's unraveled them from their protected chains of avoidance. And suddenly he remembers the reason for why he had bullied Phil all that time ago. He swallows over the lump in his throat. Is that why is he’s so adamant about it?  _ Why am I in denial? I should at least consider it.  _ No, it would make things too… weird. 

As soon as he thinks about it, his heart lurches and every muscle in his body seizes.  _ Why? _ Is it pain? Disgust? Fear? Hope? No, why would it be hope?

He can't convey it to Cat. Cat wouldn't understand. No one would. No one except maybe one person… 

But that person is the one person he can't tell. 

***

A cloud glides above him, temporarily desaturating the shimmering gossamer-waves of the sea. Far out in the ocean, a small ship bobs in the water. Phil inhales steadily, poised to see the dragon surface, when suddenly he hears the muffled sounds of Dan’s voice. Phil’s heart clenches; it’s a voice that is filled to the brim with pure agony. Phil whips around, but can’t find Dan - it’s painful, to hear his cries but not be able to do anything about it. Frowning, Phil frantically looks around, his heart rate picking up with every second. Dan’s turmoiled voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. 

“Dan?” Phil calls, breathing shakily. He takes a step into the frothy foam, ignoring the pinpricks of cold shooting up his spine. “Dan?!” He stares down into the vastness of the indigo, murky depths of the ocean. 

Then, he can barely pick up on Dan’s broken sobs: “stop it please!” Followed by a shrill, “You’ll kill him!” Before he can control himself, Phil dives into the deep sea, drowning in its dark abyss.

Phil jolts from his sleep, a muffled  _ thump thump thump  _ echoing through his ears. At first, Phil thinks it's his heart. But when he peers out of his room, his second suspicious proves true: it's Dan. Yellow light seeps beneath the crack of Dan’s door. Something in Phil’s chest crumples. Ever since that morning where Dan wasn't in class, he’s been acting different. He's been… distant, and distracted. It's been a few days since then, and it's the second day of pacing at - Phil glances at the clock - 02:56. 

He tugs on a shirt, his limbs still leaden with sleep, and shuffles over to Dan’s room. 

When he knocks on the door, it creaks open a tiny bit, allowing a sliver of golden light to slit through the dark hallway. “Dan…?” Phil whispers. He peers inside, and his breath halts in his lungs. Dan’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, an obvious indication of tears. When their eyes meet, Dan whips around immediately, and Phil’s heart twinges inside his chest. It's an instinctual urge that pushes Phil inside the room. Dan’s hand rises up to touch his face, and Phil can only guess he's wiping away a stray tear. 

“What happened?” Phil murmurs, unable to keep the sleepy affection out of his voice. 

“Can't sleep,” Dan mumbles after a prolonged silence. His voice is a shaky wisp in the air. Phil’s teeth worries over his lip, wondering if it's appropriate to wrap his arms around Dan’s shivering frame, because he has a very strong urge to do so. The disorienting dream he had does not help.

“You know…” Phil trails off, racking through his sleep-sluggish mind, “when I couldn't sleep, my mum - she always gave me a nice, warm glass of milk.”

Dan doesn't respond. 

“Want me to get you one?”

“No, Phil… Just,” he sniffs, “go back to sleep. Please.” 

Phil sighs. Well, he sure as hell isn’t going to sleep now. He gingerly walks into Dan’s room, navigating around the littering of clothes, and snack packets, and piles of crumpled paper. Dan’s back tenses, and his shoulders raise. At last, he turns around, but is unable to meet Phil’s eyes. 

His brown eyes are blood-shot. “Dan,” Phil murmurs, “what's wrong?” 

Dan shakes his head mutely, and his hands clasp together, fumbling at the material of his oversized, black jumper, which seems to swallow him whole. 

“Dan. Look at me.” 

Again, Dan shakes his head. 

“Dan?” 

Gently, Phil takes two fingers and lifts Dan’s chin with them so that their eyes meet. Phil frowns when a tear trickles down over a red-blotched cheek. Then Dan abruptly turns back around and a hand rises again. Phil swallows. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly, tentatively. 

Dan sniffs and then turns back around, still unable to look at Phil in the eye. “Nothing,” he sighs, “Everything.” Then shrugs, “I don't know, Phil.” 

Phil’s heart yearns to pull Dan into his body, just to console him for a moment. He can't stand to see Dan like this. Phil takes a deep breath, his stomach churning. 

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Phil feels stupid just saying it. Of course Dan doesn't want to talk about it; otherwise, he would've told him by now.

Dan shakes his head and sniffs, his long fingers digging into his jumper again. “I… it's hard to explain,” Dan’s voice cracks, tears welling in his wooden orbs. Phil usually associates those orbs with laughter and mirth; he always wants to see them swimming with emotion, flickering with warmth. Now they’re cold and distant and guarded. 

When Dan sniffs again and wipes the corner of his eye, Phil can't hold back any longer. He surges forwards and wraps his arms around Dan, half-expecting to be shoved away immediately with a,  _ get off me! _ But Dan just grips onto the material of the back of Phil’s nightshirt and buries his head into the dip of Phil’s neck, where a flood of warm tears start to pour, soaking into Phil’s shoulder. 

Phil stands silently, smoothing his hands over the warmth of Dan’s back, suddenly not knowing what to do or say. 

“It's okay, it'll get better,” he murmurs, and then realizes it's the wrong thing to say because Dan simply hiccups louder, and grasps the material of Phil’s worn fabric with a white-knuckled grip. Phil can't help but wonder what had caused the reaction, but then remembers that it's not really his business, and he should be comforting his friend, not hypothesizing about him and his problems. Phil bites his lip as Dan shudders into his shoulder. Dan’s curls tickle his cheek. He shouldn't be thinking about how Dan fits so perfectly against him, but he is.

“Let’s sit down, Dan,” Phil guides Dan to his bed and sits down next to him, their shoulders brushing. He takes Dan’s hand into both of his own, and starts idly playing with the long fingers. Phil marvels silently at how delicate yet bulky they look at the same time. There's something strange about his hands; they have a graceful clumsiness to them, and they're warm and steady in his grasp, all traces of trembling gone. Phil glances up, and his heart jumps to his throat.

Dan has stopped crying, but his eyes are still red-rimmed, and his face flushed. He's staring directly at Phil with an emotion Phil can’t quite place because his gaze flits away the moment Phil meets his eyes. Phil’s heart thrums in his throat. He stares dumly at their intertwined hands, his chest still stuttering occasionally. 

“I'll get you some water, okay?” Dan doesn't respond. Phil takes it as a confirmation. He untangles their hands and makes a journey to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. When he returns, he pushes the water into Dan’s hands, which loosely wrap around the glass. “Here, drink. It'll help.” 

Dan takes a small sip. And then another one. “Thanks,” he mumbles to his glass. Then he downs it swiftly, and rises to put the glass away. He eventually places it on his side table after some hesitation. 

“Do you… still want me to get you a glass of mil-”

“No,” Dan inhales, slow and stuttered, as he peels back his monochrome covers, “thanks, but I'm okay. Sorry for ruining your shirt.” 

_ My shirt? _ Phil belatedly realizes there’s a patch of wetness on his right shoulder. “Oh--! It's fine, don't worry about it. Really.” 

Dan nods numbly. “Right, er, sorry about it anyway.” 

“Dan,” Phil deadpans, “my shirt is the least of my concerns right now.” Phil wants to swallow his words when he sees a flicker of pain pass through Dan’s almond orbs. 

“You shouldn't… worry about me, Phil,” Dan says to the floor. Phil wishes he could backtrack, he really does. As if sensing Phil’s discomfort, Dan mumbles, “T’was a… good shirt.”

“It's a nightshirt, Dan, but thanks,” Phil murmurs as Dan scans his bed - why is he scanning his bed?

“I like it,” Dan says absently, his knee slowly dipping onto the matress. He frowns as he ruffles his duvet slightly more. It’s hard to read Dan’s face at this angle but is that… fear?

“Right, erm, feeling a bit better then, Dan?” 

Dan nods as he spreads his hands out over the duvet, seemingly searching for something. Phil watches Dan yank at the edges of the material, “Thanks,” he mumbles distractedly. 

Phil almost chuckles, “Okay, what is it?” 

Dan glances up, and then back down to his duvet. “I…” Dan’s face turns inexplicably pink. “Promise you won't laugh?”

“Promise,” Phil agrees, definitely too eagerly. He can't help himself; why is Dan suddenly blushing? 

“Well - urgh, this is bloody embarrassing.”

“What is? What happened?”

Dan covers his pinkening face with his hands. His words are muffled beneath them, “bloody hell, I'm a mess.” When Phil sees his doe-eyes peek between his fingers, he has another sudden urge to bury Dan in a pile of duvets and shower him with affection, before reprimanding his thoughts and realizing how deranged they sound. A sleep-deprived mind is dangerous, Phil notes to himself. Phil waits patiently for Dan to formulate his thoughts. “I… saw a moth.” 

“A moth.” 

“Yes,” Dan uncovers his face and starts talking animatedly, “you should've seen it, Phil, a moth! And this big!” Dan thrusts his hand in front of Phil’s face, where he represents the measurement by a space between his forefinger and thumb. 

Phil blinks dumbly, “a moth?”

Dan nods, vehement, “I saw the wretched thing wriggling around in the sheets, and,” Dan cringes here, his eyes scrunching in disgust, “god, Phil, it was… so… just so utterly  _ horrible! _ ” He pauses as they both mull over their thoughts. “And,” Dan continues, “now I don't know what to do.” 

Phil clamps his lips together, trying to hold in the slight twitch of his mouth that’ll give away his amusement. “I'm sure it's not there anymore,” Phil tries to reason, “Did you see it leave?” 

“No,” Dan says miserably, his shoulders sinking. 

Phil swallows, and maybe because it's 3am in the night, or maybe because Dan is so scared, or maybe because of his strange dream, or maybe because of the damned moth, or maybe because Dan is a flustered, cute, pain in the ass, but the words that come out of Phil’s mouth are not the words he wants Dan to hear. Ever. “I guess… you could sleep with me?” Phil wants to slap himself, and then wonders if a slap would make his face burn hotter than the searing heat that spreads across his cheeks (probably not), “I mean-! Not like  _ sleep _ sleep, of course, but like, sleep in the same bed. With clothes on. Next to me. Not touching, or anything,” by the time Phil has finished digging his grave, he wants to evaporate into thin air, infinity-war style. But to his delight, Dan’s face alights with a look of gratefulness. 

“Really, Phil? Would you do that?” The brown in Dan’s eyes is practically sparkling.

“Err, yeah, sure, why not?” Phil already knows he's subjecting himself to torture of the purest kind. 

***

It’s warm… hot as a furnace. He feels like he's floating on a soft cloud that’s fluffy and wrapped snugly to his body. Although the cloud is sticky and humid, and while he’s used to waking up to the buzz of hunger now, he's still thrown off by the lazy wave of arousal he feels coursing through his bloodstream, thrumming in his pants. There’s a reddish glow blaring beneath his eyelids because of the damned rays of brilliant sun. Dan always has his curtains closed in his room; did he forget to close them last night? 

Or perhaps… perhaps he's not in his room because the pillow beneath him is steadily moving up and down… rising and falling… and it's making a soft  _ badum badum badum _ sound against Dan’s ear. His eyes are fused shut, and he has a terrible inkling of what his ‘pillow’ actually is, but he doesn't want to open his eyes just yet - half because he's scared of what he’ll find, and half because of drowsiness. Instead, he allows his hand to brush over his ‘pillow’ for a few moments, testing the material. His breath hitches as he's undoubtedly met with cool skin, and a few coarse hairs. He feels a sharp puff of air on his neck as he glides over a smooth, pebbly thing. Against his will, Dan’s eyes snap open and his heart rate spikes. 

_ Phil?!  _ He tries not to move so that Phil will stay asleep, and then he realizes the rather compromising position he's woken up to: one of Phil's arms is wrapped firmly around Dan’s unclad waist, and Dan’s leg is thrown across Phil, and their feet are entangled in the damp sheets, and Dan’s palm rests flat against Phil’s chest. Limbs locked, Dan carefully glances up and sees a hint Phil’s stubble and a pale jaw. He can feel the muscle of Phil’s thigh twitch beneath his hardness, and it sets his face aflame. Unconsciously, he buries it into the crook of Phil’s neck and shudders. Not to mention, Phil’s lax fingers are roaming up and down Dan’s spine, tracing each disk with his cool fingertips, and Dan has to bite his lip to prevent a moan from escaping. To a normal person, those light touches might cause a flutter of the heart, but for Dan, it causes a  _ searing  _ agony from the depths of his stomach to the tingling of his skin - why? Because his stupid incubus qualities are screaming at him to get fucked, in the most painfully literal sense; his sensitivity has increased considerably. 

Phil smells like sweet honeysuckle and sea-salt, a golden flower on a misty hill. Dan just wants to bite into the expanse of pale, milky skin but to his horror, Phil starts shifting -  _ he's waking up!  _ Warning bells blare in Dan’s eardrums, and his heart starts hammering in his chest in a way that he's sure Phil can feel it, and his hands feel uncomfortable clammy, and  _ no, no, no, not like this! _

In vain, he tries to channel his thoughts as he shuts his eyes:  _ wow the sun’s rays are so bright and beaming and why the fuck is it so bright and isn't the heat of the rays sweltering and I can't believe how much we depend on the sun to survive and why is it so damn hot I - what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do Phil’s waking up fuck fuck fuck- fuck, is it hot in here or is it just me?  _ Needless to say, his methods of distraction are  _ not _ working; he's still pulsing in his pants because Phil smells as delicious as he feels. 

Dan’s breathing is jagged and harsh. A lump forms in his throat as he struggles to hold back the tears threatening to spill over his cheeks.  _ Why am I like this?! _

“Dan…?” 

Dan’s breath hitches, and his eyes are opening against his will again. 

Phil’s eyes are gray-blue in the bright light. Dan knows his own eyes are filled to the brim with watery panic. And by the look on Phil’s face, Phil knows. He fucking  _ knows _ .  _ Fuck. _

“Good morning,” Phil’s morning voice is soft and considerate, and  _ hot _ , it makes Dan want to cry even more. Dan, however, can't find his voice; it's choked with tears. Suddenly, Dan wants to rip away from Phil so that he can't feel the telling hardness on his hip, but it seems his limbs have locked up, and he’s petrified. Jolted by the hand that cups his face, Dan is surprised to feel moisture on his cheek. “Hey,” Phil continues as his thumb brushes away the tears, “what's wrong?”

Dan buries his face in Phil’s neck and inhales sharply, allowing the calming scent to ease some of his nerves. He's shaking, and he knows Phil can feel it. His breath hitches when he feels Phil’s fingers comb through his hair, twirling a lock with his finger. “Dan?” At this point, his tears are smearing over Phil’s collarbone, and he feels the familiar wave of suffocating, self-hatred engulf him. “What is it?”

Dan wants to scream, but he doesn't even know where to start or what to say. Maybe he can tell Phil that he needs a shower, or maybe he can say he's on the verge of starvation and then run away, or maybe he can simply say nothing and pretend to sleep. What actually happens is unfathomably  _ so much worse. _

“I’m  _ hard! _ ” He bursts, sobbing. He leans up on his elbows, resting on Phil’s chest, so he can see Phil’s face properly. Phil resembles a deer in headlights, and there's a dusting of pink along his high cheekbones. Another pulsing wave of self-resentment courses through Dan, “I’m hard - and you know what?” He seethes, his hand flying to viciously rub his teary eyes, “it's all your  _ fucking _ fault, Phil. Do you understand how much you make me question my damn sexuality everyday? It's fucking tiring! I mean, it would've been easy if you were a normal-looking person but  _ no _ \- you’re fucking-” Dan clamps down on his mouth before he can spew something horrid out like  _ you're hotter than the fucking sun _ , because he’d rather keep some semblance of his dignity - whatever he has left of it. And it seems like his mouth is running on autopilot now that he's started his delirious mini-rant, “I don't even know what to do anymore. Like, am I - am I gay? Pan? Bi? All of the above? Fuck, you make life so difficult,” Dan huffs. He feels like he's about to totter over. His vision spins and his mind is reeling. Is he dreaming? No, the roiling waves of emotion swelling within him are very real. Somehow, Phil makes it worse. 

His voice is small, “I'm… sorry?” 

Dan takes a deep breath, trying to calm the clamoring of voices ringing in his head, before he realizes he's straddling Phil, and his face blooms crimson. A burning bitterness crawls into his chest. “I hate you!”  _ I hate myself. _ Dan rips off of Phil and storms out of the room, all the way to his own room, and collapses into tears. He buries himself under his duvet, uncaring of any moths that might have lingered there. The material is cool against his heated skin, and he feels like he can breathe easier. That is, until he hears a knocking on his door a few minutes later.

“Dan?”

A tear rolls down Dan’s face, and he dries it with his duvet.  _ How could I be so cruel? How could I yell at Phil like that, and blame him like that? _ Dan knows this isn’t Phil’s fault. It’s really his own fault, but he’s too much of a coward to admit to anything. And he doesn’t want to agonize over his sexuality; it’s easier to just blame Phil for it. It’s easier and unfair, and Phil doesn’t deserve it. How could he? Dan starts to spiral into the hole of self-deprecation and guilt again, so he barely hears Phil’s second knock.

On the third knock, Dan finally manages to force himself out of his bed and open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaa that was painful to write. danyul is a mess. bet u werent expecting that now, were ya?  
> my apologize for the hiatus. i hope to upload another chapter before the end of thanksgiving break, but yknow life can get in the way. (also yay for finals week,,, not).  
> so, thank you very very much for reading. i cannot explain in words the happiness i get from your kudos and from reading your comments. >.< tysm!!!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- tw depression !! -
> 
> hello, I loved your comments thank you so much from the bottom of my heart :)  
> they make me smile sm :) so thank you :))) and ofc, thank you for kudos as well !! love yall ur so nice uwu
> 
> this chapter's on the short side. but i needed to get it out of the way cuz omg i cant wait to upload the christmas chapter aaaa  
> that'll be a christmas gift ;););)  
> im v excite
> 
> this chap is highkey a mess, jus sayin

Phil paces back and forth outside of Dan’s room. His thoughts are running all over the place, and he can’t focus on a single one. When Dan flings the door open, Phil’s mind blanks, and he forgets the mini-speech he had been mentally preparing because he’s still taking in Dan’s appearance. His curls are messy, and he’s only wearing  _ pants  _ \- come to think of it, Phil is also only wearing pants, which probably wasn’t a good idea, in hindsight - and his almond eyes are staring lifelessly at him. 

“I’m depressed,” is the first thing Dan says to him.

“What?” The word utters, staccato, from Phil’s mouth. Being depressed and having depression are two separate things. Despite that thought, Phil still feels thrown-off.

“I know, right? Unexpected,” Dan huffs, his voice laced with bitterness, “I have depression, Phil.”

Phil feels like the rug has been whipped out from beneath him as a spiral of emotions zing through his body, overwhelming his ability to think. He stares wordlessly at Dan, whose eyes are directed to the floor. “Dan, that’s… for how long?” he finds himself saying.

Dan shrugs, “I’ve been on antidepressants for a year, but I just… I’ve been feeling… I dunno. Shitty.”

Phil nods slowly and opens his mouth to respond, but then Dan is speaking again. 

"I just feel empty all the time," Dan's chest starts heaving, "and on top of that I get these- these random spikes of arousal, which just confuse me more than anything else." Phil’s mind is reeling. Arousal? From where? From  _ whomst _ ? "I mean first of all, I feel this excruciating hunger all day, I mean chocolate can only do so much, but then what? This - I  _ hate _ this. Why me? Why did I have to get turned, why am I - why can't I just be normal like everyone else?”

Phil knows Dan's not only talking about his demon classification. 

Dan keeps talking, though, seemingly trying to move on from the fact that he might’ve revealed too much, "I just want it all to end, Phil. I can't stand it. It's driving me bloody insane." Phil swallows thickly. He can't bear to hear those words. His heart feels like it's chipping into minuscule fragments with every word Dan utters. 

Besides, is he talking about his demon classification? Or about the fact that he’s just being a hormonal teenager and he’s fed up with his horny thoughts? He mentioned chocolate, though. That doesn’t relate to being a hormonal teenager. And judging by the expression on Dan’s face, it seems he’s definitely talking about his demon classification; Dan looks like he wants to swallow his words right back up. He probably  _ has _ unintentionally revealed too much. Phil's heart clenches. He wishes Dan could trust him more than that. He wishes Dan didn’t have to hide it from him.

Phil notices that Dan has been avoiding his eyes this whole time, and- ouch. That hurts too. Clearing his throat, Phil murmurs, "Have you… talked to Cat?" 

Dan scoffs, "Cat? Like she'd help." 

"What do you mean." 

Dan shrugs, almost exasperated, "I don't know, she somehow manages to make things worse without even trying." Phil takes a deep breath, pensive. “Sorry to throw this all on you, but,” Dan finally glances up, “I feel like you should know.”

“Dan,” Phil starts hesitantly, and bites his lip, “please don't apologize. I can't even imagine-” 

“Don't. You don’t have to say anything. I’ve been like this for a while,” Dan’s voice cracks with the last word.

A moment passes, and then Dan is surging forwards, collapsing onto Phil and hiccuping tears into his skin. Phil’s arms automatically wrap around Dan’s shuddering frame, and his pale hands trace circles into the smooth skin of his back.

“Also I don’t know what my sexuality is,” he huffs, “it’s so bloody annoying. Usually people would know by now, but I’m stupid and useless and I can’t figure out anything for shit. I don’t know  _ anything. _ ”

Phil pauses, putting every ounce of consideration he has on his words, “Dan, I know you’re confused about your sexuality, but, trust me, a lot of people are. And it’s okay if you’re confused about it.” Phil drags his fingers up and down Dan’s spine, feeling the smooth bumps of his bone structure. Dan shivers subtly.

“Not helping,” he groans, and Phil’s heart flips.

Phil chuckles, the breath warm against Dan’s ear, but he doesn’t stop moving his trailing fingers, “Sorry.” Truthfully, he’s not very sorry at all. 

“S’not funny, Phil,” Dan cries, “I'm a terrible friend.” He sniffles, “I'm so sorry. Just… forget that happened. Forget everything I said, okay? I fucking hate myself.” 

“Dan, no,” Phil cries, his heart clenching, “listen, I also had trouble with coming to terms with my sexuality. You don’t have to choose a specific one; you can just be a sexually ambiguous nerd.” Dan doesn’t seem to hear him. His mind seems to be whirring, deep in thought.

He must be overthinking, because he blurts,“This morning means nothing. I just haven't gotten laid in a while, okay? It means noth -”

Phil restrains from rolling his eyes at Dan’s ramblings, “Yes, I know. Morning wood, everyone gets it. It's not like you're actually attracted to me or something.” Phil sucks in a breath. Was that too much - too sarcastic? He can feel Dan turn rigid in his arms, and his stomach swoops. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Dan finally snorts, shoving away playfully, hands clasped behind Phil’s neck, “arrogant asshole. You know you’re hot.”

Phil feels his heart pounding in his ears. His thumbs are tracing circles into Dan’s hips, and he can't help the twitch of his mouth as the words eject from his mouth, “You think I'm hot?”

Dan blinks, his face blooming pink. “Fuck you,” Dan sighs, defeated, hiding his burning face back into Phil’s shoulder. 

Phil’s chest surges, “Hey, you’re not denying it.”

“It could also be because I'm an-” Dan cuts himself short. “I mean - never mind,” he mutters. There's a pause. Phil continues stroking his fingers over Dan’s back, silently curious. Disantly, he remembers Anthony saying something about incubi and arousal. He doesn't want to push, though. Not until Dan is ready to tell him. Anyway, he should be consoling his friend, not wondering about his demon classification. That’s none of his business.

“Dan, you don’t need to feel pressured into deciding which sexuality you fit into, whether you’re a panromantic asexual or an demiromantic bisexual, those labels don’t really matter.” Dan shudders as Phil’s hand dips into the contours of his back, massaging the skin there. “You can put yourself in a box, if it makes you feel better, but personally, I don't think anyone perfectly fits into one. I know  _ I _ certainly don’t.”

“But… aren’t you… aren’t you, I dunno, gay?” Dan says after a moment. His breath tickles Phil’s neck.

“Well, true, it’s what I identify most with. But it’s not _the_ _perfect_ description. It's a spectrum.”

Dan sighs, and Phil inhales sharply when his breath ghosts over his shoulder, “this is all so bloody complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Phil jolts from the wetness he feels against his neck. “Dan?” He gently pushes him back and as expected, Dan’s eyes are teary, and his shoulders are shuddering. Phil’s hand fly to his blotched cheeks, wiping away the warm tears. 

Dan sniffs, “Cat was right.” 

“What?”

Dan shakes his head. His watery eyes are directed to the floor, inspecting his toes. “I can't believe I bullied you for so long. It was pathetic. I mean, how do you not  _ hate _ me? Why are you so  _ nice? _ I don’t deserve it. How can you even stand to be breathing in the same sp-” 

“Dan, stop.” Phil’s thumbs are smoothing over the continued stream of tears. He can't bear to know that he's the cause behind those tears. Every drop hurts. “That's the past now. I mean, yeah you were a… annoying, at times-”

Dan scoffs, “understatement of the millenium.” 

Phil’s lip twitches, “But it's fine, really. Why do you think about it? I forgive you, anyway.”

Now Dan looks at him. “You do?” His brown eyes are big and doey.

“Yes,” Phil smiles warmly, “of course I do. You can't live in the past. It'll just drag you down.”

Dan nods, looking past Phil, “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” He swallows, and a frown graces his features. 

“What?”

“I just… I guess it was envy.”

“Envy?”

Dan pauses. “I mean… yeah. I think I was jealous of you. Subconsciously. I was just - so insecure about my sexuality. And then you came along, so openly gay. I was inspired by it, but also envious of it.” Dan sighs, “God I’m so stupid. I hate myself for doing tha-”

“Dan, please.” Phil can’t bear to hear Dan like this. Every word of self-loathing rips apart his heartstrings. “Stop,” Phil repeats, “that’s behind us now. Like I said, I forgive you for it.”

Dan gently parts from him, rubbing his eye, “How?” He whispers, almost violently, “How are you so forgiving? Did you forget everything? Did you forget all those times I tormented you? All those times I  _ bullied _ you?”

Phil hasn’t forgotten; the memories are fuzzy, but there. It doesn’t matter now, though. Why can’t Dan understand that? “Dan,” Phil sighs, hesitantly resting a hand over Dan’s shoulder. He restrains from dipping his thumb into the crevice of his collarbone - barely. “Dan, look,” he squeezes Dan’s shoulder instead and meets brown, glimmery eyes, “I know you still feel guilty about that. But, really, it’s fine. Seriously.”

Dan looks aside and sniffles. He shrugs a moment later and Phil can see the tears welling in his hazel orbs again. Phil’s hand darts up to wipe them away. 

“Dan, look at me.” Their eyes meet, blue staring into brown, “promise me you won’t feel bothered about this anymore. I understand where you’re coming from, but that was  _ so _ long ago.” When did his hands start stroking Dan’s hair? His fluffy curls? “Sure, it doesn’t make it any less justified, but the point is - you’re not the same person anymore.” 

Dan’s eyes are so chocolatey, swirled with hints of gold, that Phil can’t look away from them. “You’re right,” Dan’s eyes turn fierce when he declares, “I’m  _ not  _ the same person anymore. You’re right.” It sounds like he’s saying it to himself rather than to Phil. Dan sniffs once more, before burying his face back into the crook of Phil’s neck, “Still though, sorry for all that shit I put you through… and sorry for my tantrum this morning. God, that was so… bat-shit embarrassing. Fuck.” 

“It’s okay,” Phil chuckles, sensing a shift in the air, “it was pretty funny. I’ll cherish the memory forever.”

“You’d better not,” Dan warns, “I’d rather you burn it away from your memory forever.”

Phil laughs, and Dan smiles at the sound. “Yeah, not happening.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to erase it from  _ my  _ memory, then.”

“Sure.”

There’s a comfortable silence, where Phil continues stroking Dan’s hair and the smoothness of his back, and Dan basks in his warmth, a few tears trailing down the slope of his cheeks from time to time. Phil doesn’t mind. He can stay like this forever, if Dan needs him to. He could do without the tears, but his shoulder is always there to soak them up. 

“Dan?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Do you have any classes today?” 

Phil can practically feel the wheels in Dan’s mind turning, “today’s Thursday, right? 

“Mhm.” 

“Then no. D’you?”

_ Yes _ . “No.” Phil is momentarily relieved that Dan can't see his face because he's terrible at lying. Dan hums. “Good,” Phil continues, “so now we can make a great pillow fort and watch a movies all day.” Phil can feel the curve of Dan’s cheek raise when he smiles. “How does that sound?”

Dan takes a final shaky breath before squeezing. “Thanks Phil. How are you even real?” Stepping back, Dan’s chocolate eyes widen, “You're an angel. That's gotta be it.” 

“No, not an angel.” 

Dan tilts his head in question. 

Phil grins, “a dragon.”

Dan rolls his eyes, dimple curving into his cheek, “Touché.”

***

Later when Dan is drowning in blankets with a sated heart and a sated stomach, Phil speaks up, interrupting the beautiful staccato dialogue of  _ Howl’s Moving Castle _ .  

“Dan?” 

Dan hums a response. His eyes are glazed onto the tv, watching the nearly hypnotizing myriad of colors, from bright blue skies to fresh green grass. 

“Are you going anywhere for Christmas?”

Suddenly feeling like he’s been punched in the gut, Dan inhales sharply. The vivid colors on the screen become a blurry blob of turquoise. 

“Dan?” Phil prods softly. 

“N-no, my… my nan…” Dan sniffs, remembering his mother’s message,  _ I won’t be home for Christmas, love. Something’s happened to nan. I’m so sorry. _

In Dan’s peripheral vision, he can see Phil shift in his blanket, “Okay, you’re coming to my house, okay?”

“Oh, I - Phil, no - I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“It’s not imposing. Seriously, my family’s life motto is probably ‘the more the merrier.’”

Dan chuckles wetly, “But Phil-”

“I wasn’t giving you a choice; nevermind,” Phil declares. Dan finally meets his teal blue, insistent eyes, “you’re coming to my house, whether you like it or not.”

“I -” Dan sighs, “Fine.”

Phil shuffles over to squeeze his shoulder, and Dan’s heart fills with warmth. The small weight - one he didn't even know existed- in his chest fizzles away. At least he won’t be spending Christmas alone now.

***

“C’mon, you need to exercise,” Phil persists, “I’ll exercise with you.”

He’s not pouting, nope. Currently laying stomach-first to the ground, Dan is undergoing something he’s coined as the ‘existential crisis.’ “You’re fit already though,” Dan grumbles. His brain catches up to his words. Oops. It’s okay to say that, right? Friends can say that. Friends can identify if their friend is hot. Platonic ones. Yes, it’s okay. It’s not like he notices the way Phil’s shirt clings to him, or the way the muscles of his pale thighs twitch when he stretches, or the way his back ripples, or the way his shorts are perfectly molded to accommodate his well-endowed figure… well, fuck.  _ Fuck me _ .

“Dan,” Phil grunts, slightly breathless after stretching his legs, “get up before I haul you up.”

Dan snorts, “Mate, do you know how much I weigh? Do you even lift, bro?”

Phil rolls his eyes, but his lip is twitching treacherously, “Shut up. I  _ will _ drag you all over the place. You’ll get carpet burns too. D’you want that?”

“What if I do?” Dan shoots him waggly eyebrows.

Phil raises his eyebrows, and is it just Dan, or do those pale cheeks turn a light shade of pink? It only happens for a split-second, though, because suddenly those deep blue eyes are dark and sinful, and Phil’s hands are curling around Dan’s lax wrists. “Okay, why don’t we put that pain kink to the test, hm?” Phil smiles sweetly, and Dan can practically smell the evil aura radiating from him. He shudders in fear (and possibly something else that he won't admit to). “Ready, Dan?” Phil grins devilishly. His hands tighten on thrumming wrists. Dan is on his feet in an instant, wrenching away his wrists to himself.

“Okay! Fine! I’m up now, alright?” He rubs his wrists gingerly, “For fuck’s sake, no need to go crazy, Phil. Control yourself, you mad lad.” Dan is breathless, heart pounding. It’s because of the sudden change in position, he tells himself. He ignores the light blush that’s starting to climb up his neck. Exertion. That’s gotta be it.

Phil sighs, pressing a hand to his heart, “Oh good. I was scared I’d actually have to go through with that. I don’t  _ actually _ want to hurt you, you know.”

Dan deadpans, “Er… right. Sure, whatever you say, Phil.”

Phil coughs something incoherent into his sleeve, “unless you consent to it.”

“What was that?” Dan arches an eyebrow. He ignores the way his stomach jumps. It sounded like Phil said something… no, probably just Dan’s horny imagination. 

“Nothing,” Phil clasps his hands together, “Now, back to the exercise.”

Dan sighs, his shoulders slacking, “I hate you, a bit,” he mutters. “Just a bit.”

Phil ignores him and rolls out a mat, “this is a yoga mat,” he explains.

“I know what a yoga mat looks like!” Dan screeches.

Phil looks up from the blue mat, his eyes narrowing, “But do you know how to use it?”

Dan plants his hands on his hips indignantly, “Of course I do! I’m not an amateur, Phil!”

***

“Close, Phil. Almost. Close! Unghh - fuck!”

“You can handle a little more, Dan. Keep going.”

“Fucking hell, I can’t do this. Just let me go already. Please… Phil,  _ please. _ ”

“You can have that sweet relief if you just wait a few more seconds!”

Dan has many regrets -  _ the perfect name for my autobiography _ , he thinks. Phil’s arm skids along his body, sending tingles all over his skin. “There, just like that,” his smooth voice is as irritating as attractive. Dan’s panting like a wild animal, struggling to survive through Phil’s vigorous exercise. Well, it’s not too vigorous, but Dan can complain. After the initial stretching - an utter embarrassment, especially because Phil couldn’t stop his eyes from twinkling with amusement - and a series of physical activities, now he’s doing a side-plank. It’s supposed to last for 15 seconds, but Phil is evil and it’s probably gone on for longer than that. At least, that’s what he thinks.

“Phil,” Dan huffs, “can I stop now?”

Phil checks his watch - one he’s worn specifically for this purpose, “Ten to go,” his voice is light-hearted, as if ten seconds is nothing.

“Fuck, I can’t,” Dan strains.

“Just 8 more!” 

“No,” Dan’s body thunks to the ground, lifeless.

“ _ Dan _ , aw you were so close too,” Phil stands over him with his hands on his hips.

Dan throws an arm over his eyes, and he cringes from the dampness he feels in its crook, “Eugh, now I’m all sticky, Phil. This is all your fault.”

Phil giggles, “Oh my gosh, that sounded terrible.”

Dan rubs the sweat from his eyes, “You’re saying that  _ now?  _ Have your ears been working for the past half hour?” Phil rolls his eyes as Dan closes his own. He’s feeling quite comfortable, now that he’s laying on his back. He allows his buzzing skin to rest in the relatively cooler air.

“Maybe we should try out judo,” Phil murmurs absent-mindedly as he stretches his arm across his torso. Dan opens his eyes and watches the pale skin, frustratingly covered by the short sleeve of his t-shirt. His eyes rove down, over the length of Phil’s body. Phil is so long and lean, all pale skin and striking features, just the slightest ripple of muscle - and he’s giving Dan breathing problems right now. “Dan?”

“Wh-yeah?” Dan swallows, his eyes flickering up to Phil’s sapphire eyes. “Hm?”

The side of Phil’s lip is quirked in what seems to be an almost-smirk, “Who said you could have a break?” Phil breathes, raising an eyebrow. 

“Fuck you. I’m done,” Dan glares before rolling over on his side.

Phil is on his knees in the next moment, and a hand is squeezing Dan’s bicep. Immediately, out of embarrassment for his unfit arms, Dan wants to shove him away. Phil needles, “C’mon, Dan. Just a few more?”

“No,” Dan mumbles, “god, I’m gonna be so sore tomorrow. Philll.”

“It’s okay, I’ll give you a massage then.”

“Ugh,” Dan’s face heats; just imagining Phil’s hands on his naked back has him squirming. Abruptly, he’s aware of the hand that’s lingering on his shoulder, “No, that… won’t be necessary. Thanks, though.”

“Are you sure, Danny?” Phil’s voice is unnervingly close to his ear. He’s probably leaning towards it. His hand is still resting on Dan’s arm too. 

“Yes. Get off me, nerd,” Dan sighs as he closes his eyes and finally shrugs Phil’s hand off.

Phil finally lets go, but is still annoyingly close. He does not understand the concept of personal space.  _ He does not understand- _ “I don’t think you know what you’re refusing to, Dan,” Phil whispers.

Dan ignores the spike of heat Phil’s voice elicites and hums non committedly because he’s starting to drift into dreamland. Phil runs a finger along his spine, and warmth pools in Dan’s stomach. “What I mean is,” Phil continues, “dragons have this dexterity.”

“Whazzat.”

“A dexterity? Well, all superhumans have them, but for dragons, their dexterity is the  _ hands _ .”

“Hands?” Dan barely hears himself. He lets the fog of dreamland take over. Or maybe it's the fog of bliss that Phil’s hands bring.

“Yup, we’re good with our hands, from welding machinery, to fingerpainting, to anything else concerning hands,” Phil’s voice is like a lullaby, and Dan’s mind certainly does not jump to the less-appropriate things that could result from Phil’s apparent hand dexterity. If Phil sees the blush that surges to his face, or feels the shiver that runs down his spine, he doesn’t comment on it. “So, obviously, I’m gonna be good at giving massages.”

“Obviously.”

“Y-hey! Are you even listening?”

“Nope.”

Phil sighs. “Dan, you should probably take a shower before you sleep.”

“N-uh, too tired. Too much exercise. Phil is a mean bastard,” Dan mumbles into the yoga-mat.

“Am not!” Phil cries, offended. “I just want you to be healthy.”

“Cute.”

There’s a sudden impact on his arm, where a dull pain starts thrumming, “Ow!” Dan exclaims, his hand flying to his bicep. “What was that for?!”

“That’s what you get for patronizing me. Now get up and take a shower.”

“With you?”

Dan has two bruises on his arm the next morning. Goddamn dragons and their healing-cancellation powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next upload will def be in 2 weeks, but idk maybe ill be able to upload earlier?  
> i have finals week right after this one tho so kinda unlikely... depends on my procrastination game (strong, usually). cri.  
> but dw!! i will be back!! i have it written i just need to edit and make it better,,  
> one of my fav chapters are coming up aaaaa  
> the christmas special xD omgomg you will see <3  
> i can do a sneak peek? on tumblr? if u want? lmk if u want sneak peeks.  
> tumblr @ bluejazzberrys  
> again, many many thanks for reading <3 tylybbs


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter is kinda short, 3.6k, but enjoy!  
> also this isn't the christmas chapter lol it was too long so had to split it xD

“You been here before, Dan?” PJ’s eyes are glittering green beneath the dim lights as he sips from a sparkly cocktail. His face flashes blue and green beneath the fluorescent lights.

“No, I don’t really like going out much,” Dan admits to his beige-colored drink - whisky, perhaps. His knee bounces on his stool.

“Yeah, Phil doesn’t like it much either,” Chris leans on the counter, stirring his colorful drink with a curly straw.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Dan mutters, glaring at Phil, “you said you liked it!”

Phil’s eyes are crystal clear when they widen. They’re tinged golden - even more golden from the lights, “No, they think I don’t like it because you weren’t with me before,” Phil struggles to defend.

“Oh,” Dan murmurs, ignoring the way his heart flips, “right.”

He can feel PJ’s eyes on them, flicking back and forth between them. 

“So, how often do  _ you _ come here, Peej?” Phil asks, leaning an elbow on the bar.

PJ shrugs, “Probably ‘few times a month.”

“Yeah, we’re not party animals,” Chris says, and then shares a meaningful look with PJ. Dan frowns at the exchange.

“Hey, Dan, let’s uh - let’s get a drink, shall we?” PJ offers no room to decline with a closed-lip smile; his hand is at Dan’s elbow, steering him through the throngs of people.  

“What?” Dan nearly hisses when they reach the line to the bar.

“Hm?” PJ’s eyes are piercing into his own, “Did you say something?”

Dan is wary; Phil has told him of how PJ hated him most. Well, those weren’t the exact words, but he got the message. Dan bites his tongue as PJ orders four piña coladas. PJ turns back to him and crosses his arms.

“You’ve been staring at him,” PJ shifts his body towards Dan fully.

Dan knows who he’s talking about, but he still asks, “Who, Chris? Don’t worry, I won’t steal your boyfriend, mate. Besides, how did you even know I fancy men-”

The weight of PJ’s deadpan instantly shuts him up. “You know who I’m talking about.”

“Right, well,” Dan huffs, his heart starting to pick up its pace. “Who, Phil? Don’t be absurd,” he scoffs, “I mean, yeah, he’s my friend. What’s wrong with looking at my friend?”

PJ raises his eyebrows. “You certainly don't look at him like a friend.”

Dan frowns, sudden anger flaring in his chest, balling in his fists, “Why do  _ you _ care?” First Cat, now  _ this _ .

“‘Cuz he’s  _ my _ friend, and a close one at that,” PJ immediately shoots back, as if he was expecting Dan to ask this. “Well?” PJ blurts after a moment.

“Well what,” Dan deadpans.

“Do you see him as more than a friend.”

Dan shakes his head, his jaw clenching, “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Dan repeats, emotionless. Then, more fiercely, “What do you want me to say?  _ ‘Yes’? _ ”

PJ shrugs as the bartender places the drinks on the wooden slab, shooting a concerned look between the two of them. PJ thanks him with a tight smile before slurping some of his drink. “I dunno, maybe?”

Dan frowns, “What? Why?”

“Are you blind or dumb?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Can you stop being so vague? What’s your point?”

PJ looks at him intensely for a long time. His eyes are vivid green, viridescent, and Dan wonders what the hell is going on here. Dan is the first to break the staring contest. His stomach is in knots. PJ sighs, “Nothing. Nevermind.” Dan nods, about to turn back to their spot, when PJ corners him against the bar, “But if you ever,  _ ever _ hurt Phil, just know that -” PJ seems to struggle for words, “Just- you better not hurt Phil, okay? Know what you're playing with.” Dan’s eyes are wide, his heart pounding in his chest; he thought he was just about to be pummeled by an aggressive PJ.

Puzzled, Dan frowns, “Why would I hurt Phil?”

PJ huffs out a frustrated breath, “God, idiots! Both of you,” he mutters.

Dan’s mind swirls with confusion, wondering if PJ has gone mad. Then his thoughts catch up to him: is PJ is a superhuman too? Does PJ know about the life drain ability? Is that why he's so concerned about Phil? But that's insane; PJ wouldn't know that Dan can be a threat to Phil just because he can feed off of him. He wouldn't be able to know that unless… 

“A-are you…?” Dan swallows around his suddenly dry mouth.

“Here, hold these,” PJ hands him two glasses, the condensation on the surface cool against Dan’s clammy palms. Dan gulps one of the sweet concoctions so that he can talk without sounding like a turtle.

Then he’s spitting the words out, “Wait, Peej. Are you a superhuman too?”

PJ’s eyes widen. 

Dan exhales, his mind spinning - and not from the alcohol -  “For fucks’ sake, they’re  _ everywhere _ . First Phil, now  _ you _ ? I can’t believe I couldn’t sense you guys. I mean, usually we’d be able to sense each other, right? How come - ” Dan cuts himself off abruptly. PJ is looking at him as if  he’s grown two heads. As if he’s grown two heads and sprouted glittery rainbow wings. As if he’s grown two heads, sprouted glittery rainbow wings, and has a third arm coming out of his chest. Fuck. 

“W-what?” The green in PJ’s eyes are flickering with mild horror.

“Uhh…” Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck, “I mean,” Dan plasters a smile to his face, his heart making itself known in his ribcage. “I mean, ha-ha. Just kidding?” Dan has never wanted to evaporate into thin air more. “I joke.”

PJ just nods jerkily and clutches a pair of his own drinks. He can’t seem to meet Dan’s eyes. Dan swallows, looking helplessly at his drink. He’s not drunk enough for this shit. “Let’s head back, then, shall we, Dan?” PJ’s smile is probably a mirror image of the smile Dan had just thrown him a few moments ago.

Dan has to remind himself to breathe before falling in-step with PJ.

*

As soon as they’re out of ear-shoot, Phil turns to Chris excitedly, “So?” His blue eyes are sparkling.

Chris smiles sheepishly, faux-innocence radiating from him, “What?” He tries for nonchalance.

“How are you guys doing?” Phil shoots him waggly eyebrows. A blush appears on Chris’ face.

“Y’know, we… we’re good, yeah.”

Phil restrains from facepalming. “Okay but  _ how _ -”

“Anyway,” Chris presses a hand to his own chest, “enough about me,” he digs a finger into Phil’s shoulder, “How about  _ you _ two, hmm?”

It’s Phil’s turn to play innocent, “What about us?”

Chris returns his wiggly eyebrows, “You two been at it?”

“What’s that supposed to m-” From Chris’ smirk, Phil realizes what he’s asking, and his face goes a little red, to his annoyance. “Oh. Uh, no, Chris, we’re just not like that. Besides, how’d you know Dan wasn’t straight? I swear, he told me only a few days ago.”

“Phil, honey, anyone with eyes can tell he’s  _ infatuated  _ with you,” Chris pats him on the shoulder.

Phil chuckles, “You must be joking.” When Chris doesn’t deny, Phil sits up straighter on his stool, “You’re joking, right?”

At that moment, Dan and PJ appear with drinks, and the topic is dropped. Chris keeps sending him creepy smiles from time to time, though, and it confuses Phil to no end. 

***

“Y’know, Phiw,” Dan slurs, “I don't think drinking woz a good idea.”

Phil’s arm is slung around Dan’s shoulder, “yeah? And why’szat?”

“Becaush we’ve got a flight to catch tom’rrow, dingus,” Dan nearly trips over a stair, and breaks into giggles, “oh fuck.” 

“Dan!” Phil squeals, “Don’t die!” 

Dan laughs, high-pitched, “Shh! Phil, we’re still outshide. You're too loud.”

Phil is yelling, “I’m not lou-!” 

Dan claps a hand over Phil’s mouth, and they stumble on the staircase. Phil’s back presses against the railing. Icy noses touch clumsily, and Dan’s breath is hot on Phil’s face. Dan wonders if he imagines the way Phil’s cheeks darken. “Shhh!” Dan shushes violently. Phil is glaring at him, and his muttered words are muffled by Dan’s palm. “What was that?” Dan leans in, grinning cheekily. Phil growls, and in the next moment, Dan feels something wet on his palm. The hairs of Dan’s neck prickle, “Ew! Phil!” He screeches, and then starts furiously wiping his hand on Phil’s shirt as Phil’s cackling fills the air. “You disgusting piece of shit.” 

Phil frowns, “well dat'shnot vewy nice.” 

Dan huffs, and then stares up at the staircase, “Phil, we’re not even-” he flings an arm towards the stairs, “-not even half-way up. Leshgo.” 

“Mario!” Phil links their hands together and barrels up the staircase, Dan’s giggles following them. 

Phil almost drops the key when he opens the door, but he manages to enter their dorm without breaking any limbs. Dan is right behind him. Phil whirls around, his cerulean eyes filtering with a realization, “Dan!” 

“Wot,” Dan starts removing his shoes. 

“You're not legal!” 

Dan frowns and flicks his gaze to Phil’s wide orbs, “uh, what’d ya say, mate?”

“You're not at the legal drinking age!”

Dan snorts, “like anyone follows that.”

Phil purses his lips, “Hm, true.”

Dan grabs Phil’s arm, “Okay, mate, now we gotta get to bed, a’right?”

Phil nods vehemently, his gaze stuck below eye-level. Dan’s heart thuds. Phil’s crystal eyes shift up and down over Dan’s face, alternating between his mouth and his eyes. Dan almost holds his breath. “Dann, y’know, you’re pretty pretty,” Phil muses, and then bursts into laughter, “pretty pretty,” he repeats. 

A few giggles slip from Dan as well, and by now his face is dusted rosy-red. “Phil, I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink,” he responds.

“No! But ishtrue!” Phil cries as Dan hauls him to his room.

“Ok-”

Phil clutches Dan’s shoulders, his eyes wide and on the edge of hysterical, “Dan, you have to believe me. Ishtrue.”

“What is?”

Phil frowns, “You know, that. What I said before. Ish  _ true _ .”

“Oh,” Dan frowns himself, “Okay, I believe you, I guess,” Dan slurs, even though both of them have no clue what they’re talking about at this point. 

Phil nods solemnly, “good. Good. That’s good. Good that it’s good.”

Dan stops in front of Phil’s door. “This is your stop, mate.”

“Ok-ay,” Phil hiccups, “lemme go.”

Dan giggles, “I did.” Phil’s hand clasps onto his. 

“No, you didn’t.” Phil brandishes Dan’s hand in front of his face, “You’re still holding on, see?”

“I am?”

Phil laughs, “Silly Danny.”

“Hm.” Dan pauses. “No, you’re holding onto  _ me _ .”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh yeah,” Phil frowns down at their hands. Dan stares at the interlocked fingers, something warm filtering in his chest, melting between the spaces of his ribcage. “I don’ wanna let go,” Phil admits. “When will I see you again, your highness?”

Dan blinks. “Your highness?” A slow smile spreads across his face.

“Yes. You’re the prince.”

“Oh.” Dan chuckles, “Okay, then, m’not complaining.” His next words get choked back because Phil raises his hand to his mouth. Dan’s heart palpitates as he feels a warm breath wash over the tingling skin of the back of his hand. Before he can stop it, Phil is pressing a feather-light kiss over his knuckles. It’s a chaste kiss, yet it sets his body aflame. His brain whites out, and his lungs stop functioning, and every muscle in his body freezes. Breath hitching, Dan’s heart bursts in his throat as Phil’s velvety voice shudders over the crevice of every knuckle, “Goodnight, sweet prince,” Phil is looking at him from beneath his lashes, his  _ long _ lashes, which cast shadows over pale cheekbones, and then he’s gone with his twinkling cerulean gaze, and Dan is left there, his skin violently buzzing all over. His hand is searing at his side, where he can feel the soft touch of Phil’s lips there, imprinted onto his skin forever. It takes all of his willpower not to crumble in a gooey mess on the floor as he hears Phil’s door click shut.

“Fuck.”

***

“Dan! Hurry up, will you? We’re going to be late.” Phil’s grip tightens around the handle of his suitcase. He’s vibrating with nervous energy.

“Coming!” Dan’s voice carries to the front door. Phil fishes out his phone. It buzzes in his hand.

“Uber’s here!” Phil stomps over to open Dan’s door, just as Dan flings it open. They meet each other's eyes briefly, both sets of which are panic-laced and anxious. Phil stops abruptly, pivots, and hurries back towards the door and Dan bustles behind him. 

“At least we’ve mastered the art of not bumping into each other,” Dan mutters breathlessly. Phil’s lip quirks up before he can stop it, and he shakes his head slightly. 

“This hangover is doing my head in,” Phil murmurs as he opens the door and drags his suitcase down the stairs. Dan hums in agreement. It’s drizzling slightly, and Dan tugs his coat on a little tighter in the chilled December air.

Once they’re seated in the thickly warmed vehicle, they take some time to regather themselves and enjoy the solace of the rainy landscape slipping by, floating in the peace and quiet it brings.

“Shit!” Dan hisses, breaking the silence. Phil flicks his gaze away from the window to look at him. “I forgot my phone charger.”

“Don’t worry, I got it,” Phil reassures. His eyes are pale blue, like the sky’s reflection on steel, in the ashy-gray light the rain brings. Dan rips his own eyes away before… before what? He shuts his brain up and resolutely stares out at the dim landscape.

“Think we’ll miss it?” Dan says to his window.

“What, our flight?”

Dan nods.

“We’ll make it; we’ll just have to… rush a bit.” There’s a tight pause. 

“Sorry, I… I delayed us, didn’t I,” Dan says to his lap, shaking his head at himself. 

Phil hums, “Not exactly. I checked us in online, so we’re not  _ too _ behind.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Dan sighs.

They arrive at the airport and manage to get through the boarding and security chaos in time and without trouble, thanks to Phil. Although they’re breathless from running through the airport together, soon they’re on the plane to Manchester, a seven hour flight. 

“Seven hours,” Phil muses, “are you gonna sleep the whole time?”

Dan, already leaning onto his arm-rest, closes his eyes, “Mm. Probably.”

Phil shakes his head, “Well, fine, if you’re going to be boring,” Phil digs out his laptop, “then so will I.”

Dan cracks an eye open, “What did you download?”

The bright red N of the Netflix logo flickers over Phil’s screen. His vibrant eyes widen, a playful glimmer swimming in the blue depths, “You’ll just have to wait and see, Danny!”

Dan sighs and closes his eyes again, “It’s Riverdale, isn’t it.”

“No it’s no-!”

“Yeah, I think I’ll sleep. For now.”

“For now?” Phil has started untangling his earphones.

“For now.”

“Wait! Before you sleep, can you untangle these?”

Dan squints at the offensively tangled mess of wires. “Fucks’ sake, Phil. That’s worse than last time.”

“I know!” Phil slides a finger over the mousepad to prevent his laptop from going into sleep.

Dan fumbles with the wires for a few more moments, untangles them, and then hands them back to Phil, “This is why you use airpods, Phil.”

“Airpods look terrible,” Phil cries. “I don’t understand why anyone bothers wearing them.”

“At least they don’t get jumbled up like yours.”

Phil pauses. He shrugs, “Fair.”

“I’m sleeping now,” Dan leans back into the windowed wall, “Don’t talk to me.”

“Alright, your highness.”

Dan snorts, but then feels an odd tug deep into his mind.  _ Your highness? _ Something dark and hazy in his memory is stubbornly worming around, trying to surface. Just as he’s beginning to fall into the murky pits of dream-haze, and possibly figure out what he’s forgotten, Phil’s voice brings him out.

“-an. Dan, do you wanna use my shoulder?”

“Uh, I think m’good, thanks,” Dan mumbles. He knows he can’t; just the thought of being that close to Phil and being able to inevitably smell Phil’s natural scent has heat unfurling in his gut, and he needs to stop his train of thought before he does something stupid, like accept the offer. 

“You sure? I don’t mind, you know.” Dan opens his eyes, and his heart skips a beat when they meet Phil’s intent, midnight blue eyes. Phil is spinning one side of his earphones around a slender index finger. Dan recognizes it as a nervous habit he’s picked up on. 

“No, no, I’m comfortable here, Phil. Really.” Dan hopes he sounds as convincing as he wants to sound.

Phil’s eyebrows raise, and he shrugs, “If you say so.” He stops spinning and puts the earphone back in.

Dan sighs, which sounds a little more frustrated now, and closes his eyes. He’s internally cursing the incubus for everything and wonders if he would have done the same if he were a normal human. Maybe Phil would understand if he told him he was an incubus. Stomach clenching, Dan shoots the thought down. Phil can’t know he’s an incubus. He just  _ can’t  _ know. It would make things too complicated and embarrassing and shameful and awkward, and Dan doesn’t want to focus on those emotions right now. So he shoves them all to some deep compartment in his brain, and dives back into the blissful, swampy depths of sleepy bliss. 

***

Somehow, Dan still ends up in an shiver-inducing position. He awakens to a soft breath tickling his neck and collarbone, sending small tingles down his spine. His vision is slightly blurry because his eyes are crusty with sleep, but he can still make out a half-naked Archie on Phil’s screen, throwing something at another equally-naked man. Dan barely restrains from rolling his eyes, but he does let out a deep exhale. 

“Phil,” he mumbles. Phil’s arm has somehow found a way to wrap around Dan’s torso, and then Dan realizes the armrest between their seats is raised so that their isn’t a real division between their seats. Phil must've raised it before sleeping on him, and Dan’s heart swells with the thought, amidst the stirrings of heat. Dan takes another deep breath, trying to pry Phil’s pale arm off of him, and trying to ward away the odd feeling of deja vu. At least Phil’s arm isn’t in any danger zones like last time. Besides, he’s grown used to the feelings buzzing inside him - who is he kidding, he’ll never get used to the damned bursts of lazy heat flooding through his veins; he’s loaded on chocolate, that’s what it is.

A flight attendant arrives, seemingly out of nowhere. Dan must’ve been so preoccupied that he didn’t notice her descent to their row. She has long, straight blonde hair and bright red lipstick that contrasts sharply with her white teeth when she plasters a smile to her face. 

“Hello, anything to drink?”

Dan swallows, his face on fire, “Uh,” his voice cracks. Fucking Phil. Fucking incubus. Fucking shirtless Archie on Phil’s laptop. Dan decides to elbow Phil, rather mercilessly.

Phil jolts awake, a hand flying to soothe his ribs, “Ow! Dan! What the f-” Phil seems to notice the flight attendant at this moment, “-fffudge? Hello, sorry, I- uhh, I’ll have, uh, water, please.”

Dan watches her pour the drink in a tall glass, which is plonked onto Phil’s desk-tray, next to Phil’s laptop. The laptop that still has a naked Archie on the screen. “Thanks,” Phil murmurs. Dan tries his best not to facepalm or crawl under his own desk-tray.

“And for you?” The air hostess smiles.

“Just a diet coke, thanks.” Dan mutters, unable to make eye-contact with the lady. He’s looking at Phil, trying to convey the hatred for him in his eyes. Phil’s eyes are bright blue and irritatingly twinkling with amusement. He gets his drink and a napkin on his table, and then the air hostess is off. 

“ _ Phil. _ ”

“Yes?”

Dan narrows his eyes and then chugs half of the diet coke. Phil watches him with wide, amused eyes. 

“That was so…  _ embarrassing _ , you - you dildo!”

Phil arches an eyebrow and drinks a sip of his own drink, “Dildo? That’s a new one.”

“Shut up. I  _ hate  _ you.” Phil giggles into his water. It makes Dan snap, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Phil smiles, clearly trying to contain the giggles that are slipping out.

“Tell me, asshole. You think this is funny to you?”

“No.” A few more tinkling laughs. Dan usually bathes in the sound, but not right now. 

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Because. You.”

“You think  _ I’m _ funny? Am I a joke to you?” Dan can’t help the smile from creeping onto his face. He just can’t stay angry at Phil, especially a giggly Phil. Why was he even angry in the first place? Phil responds with more laughter. 

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Phil claps a hand over his mouth, “shit, did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, yes you did,” it’s Dan’s turn to smirk at him. He ignores the butterflies that are squirming in his stomach.

“Well,” Phil’s face has bloomed peony pink. Dan’s face certainly feels a similar shade. “Sorry for, uh, sleeping on you.”

Dan doesn’t miss the change in topic, but he decides to let Phil go this time. “That’s okay,” Dan slides the window on the wall open. Their compartment floods with light that’s too bright for human eyes. With a soft  _ bloody hell _ , he immediately shucks it back down, “sorry for elbowing you.”

Phil snorts, “It’s okay. I kinda deserved it.”

“Yeah,” Dan nods, “You did.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is one of my favs hehe  
> thank yall so much for reading and for your kudos & comments <3 <3 love them!!!
> 
> tumblr @ bluejazzberrys   
> if you want a sneak peek, it'll be on there :)  
> till next time!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enjoy your 8k gift. you're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ho ho hello thank you all for reading and commenting and kudoing!!  
> happy holidays!!!  
> aaaa i love this chapter sMMMMM  
> ok if u haven't heard the song la vie en rose, you need to listen to it. like. rn . or as you read it tbh. 
> 
> anyway. here is your christmas special!!1!!1! 8k words!!! enjoy :D

The door creaks open. Dan’s fingers turn white as he plays with the hem of his jacket. Phil wants to comfort him, but he doesn’t get the chance to because it’s too late.

His mother’s beaming face alights as soon as she throws open the door, “Philip!” she cries, pulling him into a hug, “my child,” her voice is muffled in Phil’s shoulder. Uncontrollably, a grin splits over Phil’s face as he returns the hug, squeezing tight. 

“‘Ello, mum,” he says, a slight northern accent blending in with affection. She pulls away from him, her hands still clutching his biceps, and Dan silently marvels at the familiar blue hue of her eyes as they rove up and down her son’s face. When those eyes shift over to Dan, his stomach jolts.

“And you must be - Daniel!” Kath exclaims after she’s released Phil from her iron grip. Golden hair frames the soft slope of her face as she steps around to greet him. Dan nods and smiles tentatively, unsure of what to do with his hands. Ultimately, he settles for a handshake, even though his body is screaming at his awkwardness. How does she know his name, anyway?

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs Lester,” Dan mumbles, the words blocky and unnaturally rehearsed on his tongue. Phil almost wants to laugh at Dan’s articulateness (he barely restrains his snort), and he hates the way he finds Dan’s words oddly endearing. Kath tuts his hand away and in another moment, Dan is engulfed in a hug as well. 

“Please, Daniel, just call me Kath,” She murmurs, and she leans back to observe his face in a similar manner she did to Phil. 

“In that case, you can just call me Dan.” 

Kath gives him a small smile, “of course, dear. Now why don't you both come inside; it's bloody freezing out here.” 

Phil chuckles a bit, “mum, you're the one keeping us out.” After a moment he adds, slightly petulant, “Can you stop with your scrutinizing now?” 

“Sorry,” she peeks at Dan again, “old habit, I guess.” 

Dan shares a glance with Phil before following her inside. 

“I’m a water sprite, you see,” she says, closing the door, before turning to move towards the kitchn. Dan blinks at her retreating figure blankly. He never realized that Phil’s parents would be superhumans too, but, come to think of it, it makes a whole lot of sense. Not everyone was cursed with parents who were doomed to die if they fell in love… 

Phil’s shoulder brushes against his own as they remove their shoes, “You know what a water sprite is, yeah?”

Dan flicks his gaze to Phil’s inquisitive one, and once their eyes meet, Dan rips his gaze away to study his mismatched socks. Phil must be rubbing off on him if he's wearing mismatched socks, for fucks’ sake - not that he minds it. “Yes, uh - water sprite - of course I know what that is, Phil,” Dan mumbles distractedly as they stroll towards the kitchen, where Kath’s humming flows from. Phil’s house has a certain smell to it… it's indescribable, yet if he had to describe it, the smell is of gingerbread, and tinsel, and pine trees, and chocolate, and warm flames. He spots the holiday candle flickering on a table next to the couch - well, that explains it. Or at least part of it. The smell of delicious, rich chocolate intensifies as they enter the brightly-lit kitchen. 

Phil urges him to continue, “Well, what is it then?”

“Uh, it’s um. Like, a… like…” Dan fumbles for words.

“Yes?” He can hear the smirk in Phil’s voice.

“Like a mermaid… but on land?”

Phil bursts into laughter, drowning out Kath’s soft tinkling of laughter. “You have no idea what it is, do you,” the blue in his eyes are swimming with mirth.

Dan’s shoulders loosen in defeat, and he huffs out a sigh as heat creeps onto his face, “Okay  _ fine _ , so maybe I don’t.”

“Water sprites are best at aura readings,” Kath explains once Phil’s redundant cackling dwindles down, “that's why I’ve developed this terrible habit of reading people’s auras at any possible moment.”

“It doesn’t really affect her, though,” Phil continues, “it’s actually pretty useful, but extremely invasive, mum, so please try not to use it on us.” There's something about Phil’s tone… almost like a warning.

Kath chuckles, but her laughter is filled with cheeky undertones, “Oh don’t worry, Philip. I don’t think anyone needs an aura reading to analyze you. You’re an open book, my child!”

“Hey!” Phil cries, indignant, “not true.” Dan looks back and forth at them, silently wondering how the hell Phil is an open book. Whatever this aura-reading thing is, he needs it.

“So, how do you read auras?” Dan asks, drawing a patterns with his finger on the smooth marble countertop.

“Oh, all superhumans can read auras, dear. Some are just better than others.” She sends a pointed look at Phil, “dragons, for example, are terrible at it.” Kath starts unloading serving plates. Their spotless porcelain faces gleam below golden kitchen lights. 

“Well, we’ve got a better dexterity,” Phil shoots back flippantly. Not for the first time, Dan feels out of place with the superhuman world. He only just recently learned about dexterities. What the fuck are auras, anyway?

“Phil, dear, would you get those on the top, please?” Kath gestures to the few plates on the top shelf. Dan shoves down his curiosity. Or rather, he forgets it as his mind blanks; Phil shifts to help, exposing a strip of pale skin when he reaches to get the last few plates. Dan tears his gaze away and swallows thickly. He blinks and clears his mind before the stupid incubus can start meddling with his thoughts. Although, he should be fine; he’s loaded himself with chocolate before the trip - for a multitude of reasons. It still doesn’t explain the zing of heat that tugs low in his stomach. Dan refocuses his gaze on the embellished, white-gold marble.

Kath murmurs words under her breath while flicking her gaze back and forth at the array of containers on the counter, before seeming to recall something. She turns towards Dan, “oh, how could I forget, I made brownies! Phil tells me they’re your favorite.” In his peripheral vision, Dan sees Phil freeze.

“Phil talks about me?” Dan blurts, raising an eyebrow. His heart skips a beat when he sees Kath’s wide grin splitting across her face.

She doesn’t hesitate, “Oh, all the time, dear,” she busies herself with opening the oven as Phil splutters incoherently (and adorably, but Dan won’t admit to that).

“All good things, I hope,” he mumbles as he meets Phil’s embarrassed eye, and suddenly Dan is hit with the realization of why it smells so strongly of chocolate. 

Kath hauls out the tray of freshly cooled brownies, “Among the many things he’s told me about- “ “ _ Mum!” “ _ -he’s certainly mentioned your chocolate obsession.” She grins as she gingerly places it on the stove. Dan risks a glance at Phil, whose pale face is the barest shade of pink. When he meets Dan’s eyes, he shrugs, and mouths  _ sorry _ . Dan bats away his apology with a shake of his head. 

_ They must be curious about my superhuman identity, then,  _ the thought pops into his mind without his permission. Absurdly, Dan feels something like uneasiness creep into his chest. His neck feels hot as he realizes the follow-up question that’ll surely inquire of his superhuman type. He can almost hear Kath asking it in her light-hearted, motherly tone:  _ so, what type of superhuman are you? More interesting than a water sprite, I’m sure.  _ Dan gulps and hopes the slight tremor in his hand isn’t as noticeable as it seems. He presses down slightly on the cool marble to ensure steadiness. He can't even admit that he's an incubus to Phil. How will he explain it to Phil’s family?

Phil’s hand is at Dan’s elbow, a gentle grip that has him nearly jumping out of his skin. “You okay?” His eyes are crystal-lake blue, glimmering with concern, “you seem a bit… overwhelmed.” 

“No, yeah, I’m fine,” Dan shoots him a wobbly smile, “perfect.”

Phil frowns, “What’s wrong?” he mouths.

Dan watches Kath neatly slice the brownies into even squares. Phil follows his gaze. Dan bites his lip and looks down at his feet. Phil opens his mouth, as if to say something, but then closes it.

At that moment, blissfully, the chime of the doorbell rings. 

“Ah! That’ll be Martyn and Cornelia,” Kath says as she brushes stray brownie crumbs from her fingers. “I've got it.” She places the cutting knife down and scurries out of the kitchen. 

There's a slight hitch of breath, and then the words are pouring out, “I just didn't realize your parents would be superhumans too, and you’re one, and I'm one, and they're probably curious about my superhuman classification, like you were, right, ‘cuz- ‘cuz I can only eat chocolate, right?”

“Dan.” 

“I mean - a normal human would be able to eat anything, but I can only eat chocolate and I won’t know what to tell your parents - like, how can I tell them that I’m - I  _ am  _ what I  _ am _ ? I can't even tell you! And I don't know what to say, ‘cuz this superhuman bullshit is just so unf-”

“ _ Dan _ , Dan,” Phil rolls his eyes fondly as he squeezes his hands on Dan’s shoulders, “we’ve had this conversation before. Yes, I’m curious, but I won’t push you.” He spares a glance at the voices coming from behind them, bubbling from the entrance, “no one here will. I promise.”

After a pensive moment, a weight lifts off of Dan’s chest, and the tightness wrenching at his spine loosens. “O-oh.” Dan suddenly feels a treacle of silliness streaming through his thoughts. It's Phil’s family; of course they wouldn't pry. They share a smile, and Dan hopes the adoration brimming in his own eyes isn’t too evident. He wants to break their gaze, but something about Phil’s intent stare keeps his eyes glued to the cerulean pools.

Phil releases him from his grip, and Dan feels some of the warmth brewing in his stomach leave. “I just told them you like brownies,” Phil starts as he plucks a brownie from the pile that Kath has neatly stacked on the counter. He pops a piece into his mouth and swallows. “Didn't say anything about your classification. But yeah, they prolly know you're  _ some _ type of superhuman.”

Dan nods thoughtfully. He can live with that, he supposes. “Are we allowed to eat those before dinner?” Dan gestures to the sweet delicacies. He wants to take one, but it would be impolite, and he wants to put on a good impression - the best one. He tries not to dwell on  _ why _ . 

“Dinner? Why, Danny, this  _ is _ dinner,” Phil takes another cube and offers it to Dan, “want one?” Phil dangles the brownie bite in front of his nose, and the smell has him salivating; it's rich chocolate, and if he looks hard enough, he can make out the small pieces of melted chocolate embedded in the layer of sweetness. He lifts his hand to grab if, but instead of meeting the firm, gooey, chocolatey goodness, he's met with thin air. Phil giggles as he swallows the bite down.

“You-!” Dan splutters, his chest surging, “y-twat!” 

Phil's only response is more laughter, “You should've seen your face omigosh,” he braces himself on his knees. 

Dan crosses his arms and looks away, towards the heaping stack of brownies. “Unlike you, I'm a good guest,” he huffs, amending, “I won't eat them before dinner.” 

“No one would find out, anyway,” Phil shrugs, his laughter finally dying down. He grabs another brownie and hovers it near Dan’s face. “C’mon Dan, you know you want it,” he sing-songs. 

Dan swallows, and to his frustration, he feels heat sear up his neck. He tightens his crossed arms and continues to stubbornly glare to the side. There’s a small smirk on Phil’s face, and butterflies have erupted in Dan’s stomach, and how did he allow this to happen? “You're evil.” Dan finally manages to mutter. 

Phil shrugs, and eats that one too, “your loss.” 

Before Dan can find something nasty to say, barreling in comes Cornelia and Martyn. “Phil!” Cornelia squeals. She slips her hand from Martyn’s and gives Phil a hearty squeeze. “It's so nice to see you - oh, and who's this?” Pale green, forest eyes shift to Dan’s fidgeting figure. 

Phil turns slightly in Dan’s direction, “Oh, this is Dan. He's my roommate - visiting for the holidays.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” Dan smiles nervously as he thrusts his hand forwards. They shake hands briefly, and Dan tries not to overanalyze if he didn't hold on hard enough, or if he held on too tight. Goddamnit. 

“Hello, Dan,” Cornelia turns back towards Martyn with a delicate eyebrow raised, “You never told me there’d be another -” 

“Philip!” Kath’s voice rings with authority, “are you eating those before the full meal I've prepared?” 

“Nope!” Phil clasps his hands behind his back and smiles widely. Dan knows this trick; he's seen Phil do it with his cereal. Phil glances at him and his eyes are screaming to stay quiet. Dan subtly rolls his own eyes as Martyn claps a hand over Phil’s shoulder and bear hugs him. Once he releases him, he reaches over to ruffle Phil’s hair, to Phil’s complaints. Dan notices Kath smiling fondly at the whole exchange, and uncontrollably, a soft smile makes its way to Dan’s own face. 

It was a good decision, to come here. He would've been stuck in his dreary room, mourning over anything he could possibly mourn over, ranging from his acute loneliness, his inability to get laid, the fact that he’s an incubus - the list could go on forever.

Abruptly, Dan is being pulled into a hug by Martyn, and he notices he's slightly shorter than Phil, “So  _ you’re _ the ‘Dan’ Phil has been gushing over,” Martyn throws a smirk in Phil’s direction. Dan feels his face heat as something in his chest jumps, light and airy. His brown eyes twinkle as they meet Phil’s widened ones, and Phil immediately breaks their gaze and frowns at Martyn. 

“ _ Gushing?! _ ” Phil screeches. “I mentioned him  _ once _ .” Phil is seething, a single finger thrust into the air. He would look more intimidating if his face wasn't so pink. 

“Right… once, okay.” Martyn drawls. He turns conspiratorially towards Dan and whisper-yells, “Phil won't shut up about you.” Dan hides his giggle behind his palm while Phil rolls his eyes and facepalms, groaning into his hands.

Cornelia slaps a hand on Martyn’s bicep, “Stop embarrassing your lovely brother, Martyn.” Phil could kiss her. 

“Ah, has the party started without me already?” Nigel hums as he enters the kitchen. Dan slides in next to Phil. Nigel is as tall as Phil, with blond hair and electric blue eyes, and a wide build. 

As Nigel greets the family, Phil murmurs, “my dad has lightning dragon abilities.” Dan feels his eyes grow to the size of saucers.

“A lightning dragon!” His voice is drowned by Cornelia’s cheer, but it’s loud enough for Phil to hear. Dan clears his throat, recovering from his initial outburst, “I mean - you have superhuman parents - that's. That’s awesome.” 

Phil smiles wanly, “yeah, I guess it is, isn't it…” his eyes grow distant as he stares at the tiles of the kitchen.

“Are you kidding?” Phil flicks his cerulean pools to meet Dan’s flabbergasted eyes, “Of course it is! It’s incredible.” 

Nigel interrupts their exchange, “Hello, my son,” he engulfs Phil in a hug. “Daniel,” he gives Dan a brief embrace as Dan stutters out a proper response. 

“Children!” Kath clasps her hands together, drawing all attention, “dinner now, shall we?”

***

Phil's about ready to murder Martyn by the end of the night - and maybe just his entire family. Don’t get him wrong; he loves his family, but… he never expected them to be this…  _ embarrassing _ . Blissfully, It doesn’t look like Dan minds. In fact, after a glass of wine, Dan seems quite content, all rosy cheeks and dimples and sparkling eyes, and now he’s staring. He snaps his gaze away from Dan, only to meet the knowing twinkle of Cornelia’s eyes.  _ Fuck. _ He shovels a spoonful of rice into his mouth and swallows audibly.

Dan is explaining the nature of his superhuman identity (specifically, the food-nauseating aspect), and Kath in return is giving him an immense platter of brownies. Although, Dan has had small amounts of the scrumptious foods in order to appease the family - mainly Kath. 

“I’m actually a lightning dragon, like my father,” Martyn reveals after Dan’s explanation, “and Corn’s a siren.” 

Dan’s eyebrows raise, “A siren?” his head tilts to the side and Phil shoves away his hopelessly in-love thoughts that are screaming things like,  _ adorable! _

Cornelia narrows her eyes and for a split-second, Phil thinks he sees a flash of recognition flit across her features, but it happens so briefly that he must’ve imagined it. “Half-siren,” Cornelia corrects, “Sirens are exactly what they sound like; you know those tales of haunting mermaids? Yeah, that’s me.” She smiles, an oddly knowing glint in her eye.

-

Dan’s breath hitches.  _ Siren…  _ he's definitely heard that name before. But from where? Whom? He knows a siren. He  _ knows  _ he knows a siren. He met one at - Ah! That's right. He met a siren at Anthony's birthday party. 

Suddenly, the memory engulfs him, splicing through him with the clear-cut, vivid sharpness of a knife:

_ Dan spots a young, completely bald man in the corner. He's by himself, just like Dan. The mysterious man has the mightiest, most magnificent eyebrows he's ever seen on a man. On a human. On any physical being, any creature on this earth. Something about him has Dan stumbling towards him, drawn like a magnet.  _

_ As Dan approaches, the man flicks his gaze - cool, steel blue, and completely unreadable - up from his drink to meet Dan's.  _

_ "Hey," Dan sticks his hand out, "I'm Dan."  _

_ The man pushes off from the wall, and Dan has never felt so... /physically/ small before. /Is this what short people feel like?/ The mysterious man towers over him. He's at least 6' 7" standing upright. Or at least, in the moment, that's what Dan felt like. If he were a superhuman, Dan would guess him to be a half giant. But as if this man would be one; only so many exist. _

_ The man’s pale hand is also the only one that can envelope his own, "Seth."  _

_ "You look a bit lonely here," Dan comments once he's retracted his hand.  _

_ Seth raises a glorious eyebrow, "As do you." He starts to tip some of his drink into his mouth, just as a very drunk, arm-slinging Tyler purposefully crashes into him, which results in a dollop of alcohol to fly out onto Seth's obsidian shirt, instantly absorbing into wetness. Somehow, Seth manages to keep a poker face throughout the entire ordeal.   _

_ "Hey, you," Tyler is glowing, "you willing to sing for us tonight, babe?"  _

_ Seth shakes his head, and Dan can see the barest hint of a smile ghosting along his face. "I'd rather not be the cause of a massive orgy, Ty."  _

_ Tyler pouts dramatically, "Aw, you're no fun-"  _

_ Dan frowns as Tyler is forced away by another party-goer; he turns around and booms the name of, "Thomas!" before violently bombarding into another guest, supposedly Thomas. _

_ "An orgy?" Dan can't help but ask.  _

_ Seth, previously staring at Tyler's receding frame, looks back at Dan, "Yeah, t'would be... quite messy."  _

_ "Messy how?"  _

_ Seth's blue eyes are piercing as they narrow. "Hmm," he hums into his drink. After he sips from it contemplatively, he resumes, "I'm like you,” he pauses, “except I'm a siren.” _

_ Dan’s stomach drops through the floor. He feels his mouth flap open, and he imagines he must look somewhat like a gaping fish. _

_ Seth must notice his stunned appearance, because he says, “Yeah. I know.” Seth doesn't seem to meet his eyes, “got unlucky, didn't I? Well, not as unlucky as you, but…” _

_ There's a pause, where Dan clacks his fallen jaw closed. He shakes his head in disbelief, still recovering, “Jesus. Y-you're one of us too? How the hell- do you know anyone else who's… y’know, not normal?”  _

_ Seth scans the room, “pos-sib-ly?” _

_ Dan follows his gaze and sees Cat rolling her eyes at a smug-looking Anthony. Oh. So there /are/ other superhumans in here. What if there are more?  _

_ For a moment, Dan replays everything Seth has said to him, and realizes that Seth had told him a key piece of information, “Did you just say you were a siren?” _

_ “Unfortunately.” Dan tries to remember what they do. He knows it has to do with singing. Seth chuckles, “What, don't know what it is?”  _

_ Dan sighs, defeated, “No clue, sorry.” _

_ Seth murmurs under his breath, “you must be new to this whole superhuman thing then. Interesting.” He clears his throat and, in an elevated voice, explains, “Traditionally, Sirens were sea-beings, essentially mermaids, who lured men in by their hypnotizing voices. But I guess evolution has moved forward and fucked gender roles - which, good job biology - so now everyone is hypnotized slash seduced by my voice. That is, if I sing. Or hum. Or make any musical sound with my voice.” _

_ Dan blinks. He knows /exactly/ what Seth’s talking about. He wants to convey that somehow, but how? “Wow… that's-” /familiar/ - Dan’s voice cracks, “interesting.”  _

_ “No,” Seth shakes his head at his drink, before meeting Dan’s gaze again, “Not cool. Not interesting,” Seth takes a breath, “A pain in the ass maybe? Yes. More accurate.”  _

_ Dan's head feels fuzzy. Something about Seth's casual ease loosens Dan's tongue. His own voice sounds warped in his ears, as if underwater, but he finds himself sputtering, "th-that's just like me." Dan sucks in a breath, instant regret flickering in his wide eyes. _

_ Seth doesn't seem to care, because somehow he already knows, "No. not like you," he refutes matter-of-factly. "Your life depends on it," he shrugs, "I’m practically a Normal. I just don't have to sing, and I'm good. I can channel my musical energy into an instrument, a piano. But you?" Dan frowns as he watches Seth take a long sip, "Well you, my friend - you're in danger, aren't you?" _

_ Dan winces, before darkly muttering, "Who told you." _

_ Unsubtly, Seth aims a pointed look to a familiar, silver-haired Lilith, "Word gets around." _

_ Shit. Dan's jaw clenches. He's going to murder Cat, for sure. _

-

“She can actually turn into a mermaid!” Martyn is drawling, his grin turning sly. Phil almost wants to comment,  _ no one wants to know what the two of you get up to when she's in that form _ , but Dan is already speaking. 

His eyes are wide, and he's staring at Cornelia like she’s grown a second head, “Oh - I - that’s. Uh, fascinating.”

It’s a strange reaction, and Phil frowns at their engagement, looking back and forth at the two. Cornelia nods, “Yes, I expected you’d say something like that.” She eyes his plate of half-eaten chocolate, and then flicks her eyes back up to Dan’s. Phil watches Dan’s adam’s apple bob up and down. Cornelia looks like she’s debating whether or not to ask something, but something instinctive pulling in his gut tells Phil to barge in.  _ Say something. Say something now. _

Immediately, he’s changing the subject, “So, Martyn, how are things going with your - er- with your company?”

“Hm?” Martyn, oblivious, looks up from his roast, “Oh, ‘s great, Phil. How ‘bout you? How’s college?” Martyn says the last word in an exaggerated american accent.

“It’s nice, actually…” Phil hums, and the dreaded conversation disintegrates, but Phil doesn’t miss the way Cornelia’s intently stares at Dan, or the way Dan fidgets under her keen eye. Does she know something he doesn’t?

“You two are sitting awfully close together,” Nigel observes, out of the blue, a playful glimmer in his steel blue eyes. He shares a look with Kath when she chuckles softly.

Phil feels like someone has thrown a pail of water at him, and then he realizes that his father is right: their chairs are pushed flush and their shoulders are melded together. Does he always do this with Dan? Have they never noticed?

“N - uh,  I sit like this with everyone,” Phil responds with an air of nonchalance and makes no move to change their position. Dan squeezes a brownie crumb between his thumb and forefinger. Kath titters, a knowing look in her eyes as well. Phil restrains from rolling his own eyes. It’s the small things like this… has his family always been this frustrating?

“So, how did you two meet?” Martyn asks, digging into a serving of garlic chicken. For once, Phil is thankful for his brother’s deflection. 

“W-well…” starts Dan, the light in his ocher eyes draining. Phil can feel the guilt radiating from his body. Why? He can see the remorse in Dan’s eyes and his heart twists.

Deciding to take over after Dan drifts off, Phil starts their story, “We met in our art lecture, and I guess we kind of hit it off from there.” Phil can feel Dan’s leg bouncing up and down besides his own.

“Ooh, art majors, both of you?” Cornelia chimes in, gracefully sipping from a flute of champagne.

“Yep.” Phil smiles before glancing at Dan out of the corner of his eye. Dan seems to be shrinking in on himself. Phil wants to ask him what’s wrong, but it would draw too much attention to them in this case, and none of them would want that. “We actually got assigned the same room. See, it happened when my dorm leaked.” Phil’s chest feels tight.

“Oh yes!” Kath’s eyes widen with recollection . “And you and Peej had to split up.”

“Yeah,” Phil chuckles at the memory. It seems so long ago. Was that really this year? Why is he starting to forget about his life before Dan came blundering into it?

“You and Peej had to split up?” Martyn squeaks as Cornelia murmurs, “Your dorm leaked?”

“Yes, it was quite a big deal,” Kath continues. The story drones on, out of Phil’s ears. He can only focus on Dan, and his shaking hands. Dan, who seems to be staring intently at his plate. Phil gently - and subtly - places a hand on Dan’s knee. Dan jerks his head up, and Phil gasps softly when he sees tears pooling in the almond orbs. The screeching of Dan’s chair rings loudly against the floor and has Phil flinching.

“Sorry, I -” Dan is breathless, “bathroom.” He’s gone without another word. There’s a few beats of silence, but the conversation starts to bubble once again, and for that, Phil is grateful for. He wonders if Dan is still guilty about the bullying… Phil already reassured him of it, but it doesn’t seem like he’s accepted it.

***

_ I’m so fucking stupid _ , Dan storms to the immaculate bathroom and throws open the door. He stares at his reflection briefly, “God, I’m a bloody idiot,” he says to it, in the golden ambience of the small room. He takes a sharp breath. Then, twisting the faucet, he slaps his face with a jet-stream of frigid water. It’s refreshing over his flushed skin. Damn, he didn’t think himself to be a lightweight, but here he is. He rinses away the sting of tears - he refuses to cry right now, right here in Phil’s house. Phil’s already talked to him about this, goddamnit. They had a whole teary coming-out session and hugs and hair-stroking. So why is he still crying? Is it because he envies Phil’s family now? That he’s never had this kind of family experience because his father died when he was at the mere age of seven? And his mother’s been distant ever since?

No. Now, pondering in front of the mirror, he realizes he’s not jealous of the atmosphere here at Phil’s house; it's quite the contrary: he feels included. Phil’s family has that dynamic that'll make anyone feel loved and accepted. He doesn't have to worry about being judged, or being scrutinized. Sure, Kath has her aura abilities, and Nigel may tease them here and there, but that's different. He realizes he's blessed to he here with such amiable people. So he needs to move on from the past and get his goddamn shit together. He stands in front of the mirror for a few more moments and just… breathes.

When he trails back to the dining area, he hears hushed murmurings and low conversation. He wonders if he imagines the slight beat of silence when he finally enters the room. Then Cornelia explains, “we were just talking about sleeping arrangements.” Something tells Dan they weren't  _ just  _ talking about the sleeping arrangements, but… to his annoyance, his stomach still abruptly fills with butterflies at just hearing the words  _ sleeping _ and  _ arrangements _ ; will he be sleeping in Phil’s room? Treacherously, his eyes glance at Phil, who seems to be reverently staring at his baked beans with great interest. 

“Well,” Dan starts as he sinks down in his cushiony seat, feeling five sets of eyes on him, coloring his face, “I don't mind sleeping on the sofa.” 

“Nonsense!” Kath interjects, affronted, as if Dan has said something preposterous. “You will do no such thing,” she frowns. There's a loaded pause. The butterflies in Dan’s stomach start battling intensely. “You can sleep in Phil’s room, of course.” There's a painful screech of Phil's fork, “Phil, you and Dan will sleep in the same room, yes?” 

Dan studies Phil, who seems to be adamantly avoiding his steady gaze. 

“ _ Mum _ , I told you, we’re not like that,” Phil says to his roast chicken. Something tugs in Dan’s chest. 

“Friends can sleep in the same bed, can they not?” It almost sounds like a challenge. It has Dan burning with curiosity - what had they talked about in his absence? 

“I - erm. Yeah, I guess so,” Phil finally glances at Dan. His crystal eyes hold thousands of questions. Dan looks away before he can find any answers.

“Then it's settled,” Kath declares, “I’m sorry, Dan, it’s the only room we’ve got left. I would’ve given you Martyn’s room, but Martyn is here for the holidays with Cornelia.”

“Oh - uh, it’s no problem,” Dan murmurs, face hot, wondering if they can hear the husk of his voice. 

He clears his throat, about to repeat himself, when Martyn interrupts, “Don’t we have a guest room, mum?” 

“Oh, yes, dear, but it’s currently under renovations,” she elegantly dabs a napkin on her upper lip and offers an apologetic glance towards Dan, “for now, I hope Phil’s room will do.”

Dan nods, “Really, don’t worry about it, Mrs. L - Kath. It's not like we haven't done it before.” Like a thick fog, a hushed silence descends upon them. Dan’s eyes bulge,  _ shit, did I really just say that aloud? _ By the way Phil’s incredulous gaze burns into his skin, yes, he really did say it aloud. And by the way the weighted silence enshrouds him with mortification, he fucking said it aloud. Dan desperately hopes his face isn’t as beet-red as it feels. He has a sudden urge to crawl under the table, and maybe cry. The sound of Phil’s soft exhale next to him is deafening, and when Dan stares up from the whorls on the wooden table, the first gaze he meets is Cornelia’s. Her mouth twitches, as if she’s on the cusp of a smile. 

“Oh, really now?” Kath finally says after what seems like two years, but is really only a few seconds.

“ _ Mum, _ ” Phil mutters, but Dan doesn’t think anyone hears it but himself.

“Phil hadn’t told me that,” she continues her musing. Dan tries to ignore what Phil’s omission means, and doesn't succeed because Phil’s family starts clearing the table.

There's not much to dinner after that. They rinse their dishes in the sink, and then move to the family room, where Nigel brings a Bluetooth speaker and starts to play music. Its melody is rich and sweet, the notes of the low trumpet fluidly weaving through the air and embracing its listeners. With a thrill of delight, Dan realizes Nigel has played  _ La Vie En Rose.  _ He’s sitting on the couch next to Martyn, and they watch Kath and Nigel dance as Phil dances with Cornelia. 

“Does it annoy you if Phil’s dancing with your fiancé?” Dan asks, genuinely curious. He's a jealous maniac, but it doesn’t seem to be the case with Martyn.

Martyn smacks his lips, and swirls the drink in his hand. Dan wonders how much he’s drunk since the start of the night, and is slightly envious of his drinking capacity; Dan has always been a lightweight. “Well, dragons are quite possessive creatures,” Martyn starts, a half-grin tugging on his mouth, “but Phil’s my brother, so I don't mind.” 

“Ah, I see. You've got that brotherly bond.”

“Yeah,” Martyn chuckles, still watching them dance, “well, don't get me wrong,” he glances at Dan now, “we’ve had our fair share of fights and misunderstandings, but not about our mates - certainly not. No, that can get messy.”  _ Mates? _ Martyn must see the confusion written on Dan’s face, because he continues, “dragon mates, that is.” His cerulean eyes are piercing once they look back at Dan, “dragons take romance very seriously. It's not something to be meddled with.” 

Dan gulps, unable to break his gaze. His mind reels as he says the words that have been dying to be spoken aloud, “That's… that's just like me.” Martyn’s inquisitive eyes are urging him to reveal more, “for my… species… falling in love is extremely dangerous.” Dan feels like he’s about to topple over; the world seems off-kilter, suddenly. He's never told anyone this before, and he's only just met Martyn. Why is he unraveling all his buried secrets to someone he just met? To a  _ stranger _ ?

Martyn’s eyes widen at this, but it's not judgement or condescension. It's curiosity and understanding, “Yeah, see, the thing is… ” he says his words deliberately slowly as he eyes Phil and Cornelia. Dan follows his gaze. Cornelia is merrily laughing and tripping over Phil, but Phil turns rigid as the words leave Martyn’s mouth, “a dragon can only fall in love once.” The air is punched out of Dan’s lungs, and he sees a muscle twitch in Phil’s jaw despite the bright red tint of his ears. “Ooh, looks like he's listening in,” Martyn coos, “Philip, can you be any more transparent?” 

Abruptly, Phil is ripping out of Cornelia’s embrace and storming over to his cackling brother. Phil’s flaring eyes are alight, “Will you stop weirding him out with coupling and mating rituals? Your fiancé could use a dance; I’m too good for her.”

By now Cornelia has marched over, and upon hearing Phil’s words, she elbows him in the gut promptly, “Hey! I'll have you know, Phil’s stepped on my feet  _ twice  _ now.” 

Phil snorts, half-heartedly rubbing the side of his torso, “Twice? Martyn won't even be able to twirl you around without falling over on his own arse.” Martyn’s on his feet in an instant. 

“C’mon Cornelia, we’ll show him how to dance,” Martyn grasps her graceful hand and swans her away. 

Phil watches them briefly, shaking his head with poorly hidden smile, before plopping down on the couch next to Dan. For some reason, the proximity has Dan’s hands growing clammy - he’s trying not to dwell on Martyn’s revelation, but it's difficult. The words keep echoing uselessly, swirling around in his muddled mind,  _ a dragon can only fall in love once. _ “Don't listen to my brother,” Phil is saying, his azure orbs trained on Dan’s slightly flushed face. “Anyway, how are you?” He asks in a softer tone, hints of vulnerability in his voice. Dan glances up from his tangled hands and swallows once he sees the flash of adoration in Phil’s lake-blue eyes. Phil looks to the side immediately, drifting off, “I know my family can be…” 

“Your family is lovely,” Dan surprises both of them with the firm certainty - it almost sounds defensive - of his voice. Immediately, his face feels red-hot with embarrassment. “Erm, I mean -” he backtracks.

Phil chuckles, saving Dan from any further mortification, “Yeah, I guess they are,” he hums, “so, you like it here?”

“Yes,” is the immediate reply. He’s not bothered enough to be embarrassed about his quick response though; his heart pounds as he shifts to face Phil. “Phil, actually, I… I have something to tell you.” Dan squeezes the worn, leathery cushion of the couch in his fingers, his knuckles turning white.

All traces of Phil’s smile vanishes from his face when he hears the grave tone of Dan’s voice. His cornflower eyes are observing him, and Dan can practically see the gears turning in Phil’s head.

Dan huffs out a burst of nervous laughter, trying to calm himself down. It feels like he’s about to pass out from the light-headed feeling floating through his body. The uncomfortable, muggy feeling of his armpits decides to make itself known. “I'm a… I have to tell you,” he’s saying it to himself more than Phil. A cool hand clasps onto his clammy one. Dan’s eyes flick to Phil’s concerned ones. 

“Hey, it's okay, Dan,” the pale hand squeezes, “don't push yourself.” Phil’s words seep into him like warm, dripping honey. 

“No, no, no,” Dan vehemently refuses. Why? Why does he have to tell Phil? Why does it feel like he  _ needs _ to tell him before… before what? Phil deserves to know. He can't keep lying to Phil about this, and he’s sick of being consumed with self-induced guilt. The material of his shirt is scratchy, constricting against his tightened chest, “I have to tell you, Phil. I'm…” Dan takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. 

“I’m…  an incubus,” he confesses, scrunching his eyes shut, his voice a wisp. The uttered words feel like they've been sucked into the flowing music, deafened by the blood angrily booming in his ears. He waits for what seems like a decade. Finally, he feels the puff of Phil's voice. His eyes snap open. Traitorously, they linger on the pink curve of Phil’s lips - they're moving with speech, but Dan can’t seem to hear anything over the rushing in his ears.

“What?” His voice sounds warped to himself. He's horribly covered in a layer of sweat, or so it feels.

Phil’s hand slides to his wrist, and grips the warm skin there, “Dan, that doesn't matter to me.” His voice is endearingly tender, wrapping around Dan’s heart and squeezing.

“I - what?” 

“I mean - sorry, I don't mean it like that; it  _ does _ matter to me, but it’s not something that you should feel ashamed about,” Phil’s eyes are glowing blue, insistent. 

“B-but… an  _ incubus _ , Phil. You know what that is, right?” Dan can feel himself shaking. The cacophonous sounds of the world are flooding back into his ears.

“Dan,” Phil’s voice is overflowing with warmth - so much that it melts the chattering of Dan’s nerves. He wants to hear his name like that more often. Like the universe has heard his wish, Phil says it again, “Dan, I know what an incubus is, and trust me, I’m fascinated by it.” Phil seems to notice the skeptical look on Dan’s face, “Oh come on” He continues vehemently, “It’s a unique type! I wonder what kind of spells you can cast with that kind of power.”

“Spells?”

“Yeah, you’re manipulation class, right? So is Cornelia. She’s always talking about spells, so I just assumed…” Phil trails off, glancing in Cornelia’s direction. She throws her head back and laughs at something Martyn’s whispered in her ear. Phil restrains from rolling his eyes.  _ Those dorks. _

“So… y-you don’t… you don’t care?” Phil’s head snaps back to Dan’s shuddery voice.

“What?” He smooths his thumb over Dan’s wrist, where he can feel an erratic pulse thrum beneath his fingertips, “No, Dan. Of course not.”

Dan frowns down at his hands, “I - I don’t understand.”

“What?” Phil utters, “what don’t you - “

“Why aren’t you disgusted?” Dan suddenly bursts, his chocolate orbs shining with unshed tears, “why aren’t you more - I dunno - more freaked out?”

A tear rolls down Dan’s cheek, and Phil can’t help himself; his hand flies out to smear it away, thumb smoothing over Dan’s light freckles. “Dan, listen to me.” Phil’s heart stirs when the ocher, melted orbs meet his own eyes with a raw insecurity, “It doesn’t matter if you’re an incubus, or a faerie, or a stinky goblin, or a pig-eating troll.” Dan laughs wetly. “You’re still my best friend, okay? I’ll still love you for who you are. Nothing will ever change that.”

_ Like a friend _ , Dan’s mind automatically jumps, the voice bitter in his head. Why? He ignores the way his heart lurches when he hears the words from Phil’s mouth.  _ I'll still love you…  _

Phil is still murmuring words in that warmth-addled voice of his, “...besides, it adds more to your personality, in my opinion. You could’ve been a boring, dull dragon like m-”

“Shut  _ up _ , Phil,” Dan’s voice is harsh, but there are dimples on his face - dimples that Phil’s thumb impulsively runs along. Slightly flustered by his uncontrollable hands, Phil removes them from Dan’s flushed cheeks, worried he’ll do something stupid - like run his finger along the swell of Dan’s tempting, bottom lip. “As if dragons are the boring race,” Dan continues, “we both know you’re probably the most rare one of them all.”

Phil chuckles sheepishly, “Okay, so maybe I lied a bit -”

“A  _ bit _ ,” Dan repeats with a deadpan, staring at the dancing couples.

“Hey! Can you blame me? I can’t stand it when you cry; you know that.”

Dan can feel Phil’s eyes on his face. He finally allows the shy grin to spread across his face, “Fine, you’re forgiven.” His mind is still reeling though; how is Phil still sitting next to him, holding his hand, caressing his face? How? Why isn’t he thrusting him out the door?

Phil must notice the distant look make a reappearance on Dan’s face. Before he can stop himself, he’s springing to his feet and grasping Dan’s hand, “C’mon, Dan. Dance with me.”

“What?” Dan squeaks.

Phil looks away, unable to meet Dan’s presumably wide eyes. “Dance with me,” he repeats, slightly strained. At last, Phil has the strength to connect their gazes. As predicted, Dan’s hazel orbs are wide, and his cheeks are deep cherry red. Phil’s heart thuds in his ribcage. “Just for a few,” he murmurs, shrugging.

Dan’s shoulders slack, “I’m shit at dancing.”

“And I’m not?”

Dan groans, “Forget it, Phil.” After a pause, he adds, “You don’t want to dance with me.” 

“Trust me, I do.” Phil’s breath hitches when he blurts the words out, his face coloring as he realizes how eager it had sounded. However, Dan seems to undergo the same reaction, to his satisfaction. “Now get up before I drag you off,” Phil tugs Dan’s lax hand.

Dan’s gasps, offended, his other hand pressing to his heart, “You wouldn’t.”

Phil raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening, “Try me.”

Dan feels a shiver go down his spine when he hears the sinful voice. It’s not  _ fair. _ After a frustrated huff, he rises, his heart pounding in his chest. Phil’s eyes are blazing blue, smug, and it only fuels the anger burning in Dan’s lungs - anger, and something else that Dan doesn’t want to look in to.

“Fine,” Dan relents, his ocher eyes sparking with irritation, “let’s dance.”

Phil snorts, ignoring Martyn and Cornelia’s gossip. His dragon hearing has some nice perks, but there are some things he doesn’t need to hear. He steers Dan into the swaying rhythm of the sweet song, and gasps subtly as Dan clasps his hands around his neck. 

As subtle as it was, Dan still seems to pick up on the sound, to Phil’s dismay. “Is… is this okay?” His eyes are chocolate pools, pouring over Phil’s body, warming every blood-vessel with anticipation.

Phil clears his throat because he definitely can’t form a coherent response from his dry-desert mouth. “Yes, it’s perfect.” 

Dan nods, swallowing audibly. A suave voice flows, flooding into his ears  _ hold me close and hold me fast. _ His breath hitches as Phil pulls him in, his arms encircling his waist, his fingers burning into the small of his back. Dan’s face blooms red as he registers the smooth, crooning voice of Louise Armstrong between the sputtering beats of his heart.  _ The magic spell you cast. _ Immediately, he’s lost in Phil’s eyes. They’re vibrant pools of blue, swirling and golden, violet shades all melded into a single, multicolored beautiful tinge. Dan feels it. He’s drunk on Phil’s hands, on the gentle voice, on Phil’s shuddering breath. He’s the incubus here, but Phil is the one who casts the spell. 

_ This is La Vie En Rose. _

Phil is just so  _ warm _ . Trying to ignore the fluttering of his heart, Dan melts into Phil’s embrace. His emotions are running haywire, and his heart is thumping a rhythm to the lulling, heart-wrenching beat.  _ When you kiss me heaven sighs.  _ Uncontrollably and absurdly, he feels a little teary-eyed. He immediately buries his face into Phil's collar, his face warming exponentially. He's hit with a hints of raspberry, courtesy of Phil's legacy raspberry soap, and the faint scent of his aftershave. " _ Phil _ ," Dan's voice is muffled against Phil's collar, and Phil has to restrain from shuddering as Dan's breath washes over his clavicle. Phil hums in question, prompting Dan to continue.  _ And though I close my eyes. _

The words tumble from his mouth in a whisper: "Your parents are staring." Dan feels Phil's chuckle rumble through his neck. His fingertips bleed yellow as they clutch onto Phil's shoulders. "S'not funny," Dan murmurs indignantly, his face heating. They sway together for a few moments, and then Phil's voice is fluttering over the shell of his ear like a warm summer breeze. 

"Not anymore. Look up."

_ I see La Vie En Rose. _

Dan peeks up, and he’s jolted by Phil’s proximity; he’s close enough to feel the puff of his breath, a caress on his cheek. Ocean-blue eyes suck him in like magnets, drowning him in the abyss. 

“Well?” Phil whispers, arching an eyebrow. Dan’s heart is doing somersault after somersault.

He shifts his gaze beyond Phil to see that Phil's parents are back in their own world, but appear to be whispering conspiratorially. Maybe he's just overthinking it though. Although his heart rate starts to slow down - barely - the butterflies battering in his stomach continue their sadistic demise, especially when Phil's presses him closer to the solidness of his body.  _ When you press me to your heart.  _ Unconsciously or not, Phil's thumb traces circles into the small of Dan's back, sparking tingles through his spine, and Dan's face burns crimson, to his irritation. His breath hitches as Phil drags his hands to his waist, gripping the material of his shirt there and sending a hot simmer low in his bloodstream.

“What’re you d-”

“Do you trust me?” Phil's breath is warm on his face. 

Dan nods jerkily, “always,” his heart is thrumming like a jackhammer in his chest.

Then Dan is being lifted off his feet, Phil’s laughter tickling his ears.  _ I’m in a world apart.  _ His vision blurs as Phil spins him around. The golden lights are whirling, smothering together. The only thing clear is Phil’s vibrant, expressive eyes. Dan is pleasantly surprised Phil can hold him like this and spin him around, although it's clumsy, and they almost topple over completely, and he nearly kicks Cornelia, who shrieks with glee, but - far too soon, in his opinion - he’s back on the ground and in Phil’s arms, and they’re both clinging to each other and snorting with laughter. Phil's face is endearingly stained light peony. Dan’s heart clenches.

_ A world where roses bloom.  _ Dan’s vision is still spinning. He’s dizzy on the feeling of Phil, and on his honeysuckle scent, and on his rich voice, and on the exhilaration pumping through his veins, and on the warm blood coursing through his skin. Phil’s sapphire eyes sparkle with flecks of mirth, his face still flushed with exuberance. A lump forms in Dan’s throat, tight with an unnamable, forbidden emotion, and his vision blurs once again. He’s overflowing with feeling - it’s a tidal wave, flooding through his iced heart, melting its frigid exterior, crashing over his body. The roiling waves swell in his chest, rippling through him, a painful pulse of sensation. He blinks the tears away. He smiles through it. He’s certainly not… falling. He refuses to.

He can’t hear the next few lines because Phil is back into his personal bubble, closer than ever before, and Dan is trying his best not to swoon or fall to his feet or limblessly melt into a puddle on the floor. All he hears is the roaring of his veins, and Phil’s soft giggling and soothing voice. He wants to bask in this moment forever… as he twirls around in Phil’s arms, as laughter bubbles in the air, as Phil’s warm and solid shape presses into his own, as his blue-gold eyes twinkle with euphoria, as a soft voice tickles his ear, as his heart flutters with affection… it feels as if he’s going to burst at the seams, but he manages to catch the last few lines…  _ and life will always be… La Vie En Rose. _

Swaying there in the security of Phil’s arms, inevitably, Dan’s hit with the dreaded realization. He’s utterly, hopelessly in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end of part 3  
> -  
> tumblr @bluejazzberrys  
> love yall! enjoy the holidays x


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo sorry for the wait!!!  
> Thank you so much for reading and for supporting me in the phanfiction awards >.<  
> It was so surreal when I saw the notif aaa TYSM!!!

There's a faint glow of a night-light, but it's still mostly dark. Dan bites his lip, finally summoning the courage to speak into the dark, "Hey, Phil. I'm sorry for telling your family that we slept together. I mean not like slept-slept together but - "

"It's okay, Dan,” Phil mumbles from the floor, “Really, don't worry about it."

"But at dinner, you sounded so upset - "

"Oh that was just because - you've seen Martyn, you know I'm going to suffer endless teasing from him because of that.” There’s a pause. “I mean, it sounds like he's teasing about our relationship when I put it that way, and my parents already think we're romantically involved because you’re the only person I talk about nowadays, I'm sure you know that by now." 

Dan tries to ignore the way his heart sinks. There's a melancholic note in Phil’s voice… is Phil really bothered by simply the thought of them in a relationship? Ah, now all those songs about the pains of love make sense, Dan reflects.

A silence stretches on for a while. Dan wonders if it’s just him who feels the slight beat awkwardness, but before he can start overthinking it, Phil starts rambling again, "Well, when you put it like that, I sound like a creep, but uh, no, it's like... I mean it's ridiculous, really. I keep trying to explain to them that we're only platonic friends. I mean boyfriends-” Phil scoffs, “could you imagine?" Dan hums in agreement, but his heart sinks. "It would just be so  _ off _ . I don't think we'd make good boyfriends." Phil continues, and Dan feels a piercing pain dig deep in his chest. 

Dan finds himself chuckling weakly, "yeah... who'd wanna be boyfriends with you?" Immediately, he sucks in a breath, restraining himself from slamming a nearby pillow into his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Phil's voice is filled with defensive undertones. Of course it is; any sensible person would be offended from a statement like that.

Dan swallows.  _ An idiot. I’m a fucking idiot.  _ "I mean! That's not what I meant - fuck. I'm shit at words. I just meant - "

"It's okay Dan, I know what you mean. Kinda.” Phil inhales, “And it's true, like, um. We're just friends. I don't understand why so many people see us differently. Honestly, it gets on my nerves sometimes."

Dan swallows around the lump in his throat, "h-uh.. yeah... right. It does." Why is Phil being so mean? Sure, Phil doesn’t even know he’s being mean, but it still hurts.  _ Love hur- _ Dan doesn’t allow himself to finish that thought. He needs to get his shit together.

A few (presumably) tense moments pass. Dan can hear the clock ticking on the wall. He’s so thrown off by his own feelings that he doesn’t even register that Phil is on the ground. He curses himself. Leave it to Phil to forget proper etiquette.

“Phil,” Dan whispers, wondering if the gap this time was long enough for Phil to fall asleep.

“What,” the response is immediate, and it eases Dan’s nerves a little. Why is he nervous? Oh yeah, because feelings. Yeah, that’s a real thing now.

It’s painful to say the words, “Get up here.”

“I can sleep on the floor, Dan. I’ve done it plenty of times.”

“Shut up and get up here, Phil,” Dan tries not to wince at the irritation flooding his voice. He doesn’t know why he’s getting so worked up, all of a sudden.

“No, really, it’s okay. I know you like your personal space.”

Hearing Phil’s soft, considerate words washes away some of the dangerous energy coiling in his chest. “True,” Dan starts, and after a pause, he can’t come up with a proper reason for Phil to stop sleeping on the floor, “Phil,” he huffs, “just come to bed, for fuck’s sake.”

Stubborn, Phil is still adamantly refusing, “No. I like the floor, Dan. Just… go to sleep already.”

Dan’s fingers curl, “Goddamnit, Phil, if you don’t come on the bed right now, I’m sleeping on the floor too.” 

“Dan, it’s not a big deal!” Phil’s voice rings with exasperation, and Dan frowns. He curls in on himself, feeling small; why is Phil resisting this much? It’s not like he smells awful or something. In fact, if Phil’s reaction to his scent is anything to go by, he apparently smells fucking  _ delicious. _ The bolt of heat he feels with the vivid memory only adds to his frustration, however. Phil’s mumbled voice cuts through his thoughts, “stop being such a stubborn ass.” Dan sees Phil’s silhouette turn over in the sleeping bag.

“Shut up. You like my stubborn ass.” Dan wonders if he’s the only one who hears the gust of wind that whooshes through the room, followed by a deafening silence. He desperately hopes Phil fell asleep before he heard those impulsive words. He knows it’s futile to cling to the hope, though. It’s probably not humanly possible to fall asleep in 2 seconds. Finally, Dan finds his voice again, and murmurs warily, “now would you just get in bed already.” Dan’s heart is pounding in the beats of silence that follow. After Phil doesn’t respond for a while, Dan blinks in the darkness;  _ maybe Phil /did/ fall asleep after all. _

“I  _ am  _ in bed,” Phil’s belligerent voice is muffled into his duvet. 

So he’s awake. Dan sighs, “Philll, you know what I mean. Do I need to come down there?” His voice dips into the threatening territory.

Dan hears a lengthy exhale, and his heart jumps when Phil sits up from the floor. One of Phil’s hands rubs his eye while the other - the one he’s currently leaning on - is planted to the carpeted floor. Dan is suddenly entranced by the shadows that dance along the shape of Phil’s arms. “ _ Fine, _ ” Phil sighs, “but my bed’s cramped, so I better not hear you complain about your precious personal space.”

Dan finds himself saying, “deal,” as a thrill runs down his spine. Whipped. He’s whipped. Dan feels the edge of the bed dip, and Phil’s shadow hovers above him, sending his heart pounding. “Wh-what’re you doing?” he squeals.

“Shh!” A long finger presses against Dan’s bottom lip, and Dan barely holds in his squeak as his breath gets caught in his lungs and his heart pounds in his ears. His chest is rising and falling swiftly, “don’t be so loud,” Phil reprimands. Dan barely hears it as he swallows audibly. His lips are buzzing, and he has an overwhelming urge to dart his tongue out, just to  _ taste _ , just to  _ see _ how Phil would react, just to  _ feel _ its smooth, soft - damn, he really needs to stop the incubus from running away with his thoughts. The chocolate’s probably wearing off. A bolt of panic strikes through Dan; if the chocolate’s wearing off, he’s going to be a horny mess in the morning. And Phil’s going to see him in that state. His chest tightens, and he’s springing out of the sheets in an instant. He’s breathless.

“What?” Phil whisper-yells, his finger now blissfully removed as he sits up on his knees, “now what?”

“I…” Dan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He feels Phil’s dark eyes on him. Phil’s scent is wickedly sweet and treacherously calming. “I need a midnight snack,” Dan blurts.

Phil snorts, and Dan feels the puff of cool breath on his heated cheeks. This was a mistake, Dan thinks. “Dan, midnight was about two hours ago.”

“I don’t care. I’m hungry.”  _ In multiple ways. _ He ambles out of bed and sneaks into the kitchen. The container of brownies rests innocently on the counter, and Dan wonders if the distant sounds of angels ringing in his ears are completely imaginary. After a few nibbles, he waits for a few minutes. A feeling of dread gradually trickles through him. 

He doesn't feel different. The attraction is purely his own. He still feels the heat coursing through his blood.  _ Fuck. _ At this point, the best solution is probably a cold shower, but it would be too strange and extremely telling. Instead, he hurries to the bathroom in the kitchen area and splashes his face with frigid water for the second time that night. The first time he had done it already feels ages ago. Was that really only a few hours ago? Dan squares his shoulders and takes a few deep breaths. His brown irises are staring daggers at him in the mirror, and his cheeks are still slightly flushed; there's a red patch blooming at him on his cheek, but it can't be helped. Feeling slightly more at peace, he makes his way back to Phil’s bedroom, prepared to meet his doom. 

“Are you… okay?” Phil asks once he cracks the door open.

“W-yeah, fine.” He clears his throat, “why?” He was kind of hoping that Phil would be asleep already. 

Phil shrugs, “you practically ran out of here, and - I dunno - you seemed pretty stressed, but m’not a hundred percent sure ‘cuz it's too dark to tell.” Phil’s voice is laced with drowsiness. Dan feels it to his bones; it has heat simmering low in his stomach.  

“Yeah - erh -” Dan’s heart thuds in his ribcage, “I was pretty hungry.” Well, he knows that's a lie now. Or is it?

It's dark, but Dan can still see the shadow when Phil raises an eyebrow, “must've been pretty hungry.” 

Dan’s smile feels wobbly, “yeah, I was. Uh, big appetite, I guess.” Phil seems to pause at this, and Dan’s face flames; now, both of them know that's a lie. His appetite is always close to non-existent because of the damned incubus. He barely eats anything. And both of them know it.

“Right,” Phil frowns, before shifting over so that he's more closely pressed to the wall, “I’m sleeping now,” he closes his eyes, dark lashes fluttering over high cheekbones, “d’you think y’have ‘nuff space?”

_ No. We’re giants, the two of us.  _ “I should be… fine.” Dan bites his lip, analyzing the dips and crevices of the duvet like they’re puzzle pieces. Ultimately, he slides in next to Phil’s warm body and takes a sharp breath. 

Phil’s shoulder is pressed to his own, and his leg brushes against an icy foot, “bloody hell!” Dan hisses, yanking his leg away, “sorry. Why’re your feet so cold?” Dan tosses in bed so that he's sleeping on his side, staring at the golden flicker of the soft night-light. His heart beat finally starts to calm down. 

“I dunno, I'm cold, that's why.” Phil mumbles into the duvet. His voice sounds distant. Dan’s head is fuzzy with sleep, and he hums in response. Limbs starting to feel leaden, Dan finally manages to falls asleep, his mind still tormented by errant thoughts.

***

There are three things that Dan notices when he wakes up. 1) He's not hard. He’s so relieved he’s dizzy with it. 2) What's that inching up his stomach? 3) Phil, and Phil? And  _ what is Phil doing? _ _  
_ __ Phil’s hand is pressed firmly into his ribcage… his very nakedly unclad,  _ bare _ ribcage. His shirt seems to have rucked up during the night, and now Phil’s palm is cool against his sheet-warmed skin. Dan holds his breath, errantly wondering if Phil can feel his heartbeat - it’s erratically thrumming like that of a hummingbird’s.

It wouldn’t have been too much of a problem if Phil just stayed still (it would still be a slight disaster, though); the real problem comes in when Phil starts to move his hand, giving Dan heart palpitations and breathing failure. Dan keeps his eyes fused shut, lest he wake up and cause an embarrassing catastrophe. No, he'd rather avoid that. Maybe Phil is still asleep, and is doing this unconsciously. In his sleep. 

Dan tries his best to keep his breathing leveled, because Phil's hand is delicately trailing upwards, and his soft breaths are fluttering over his ear, and there’s a finger brushing over his collarbone, and a nail skirting over his nipple, then down his chest, running over the smooth plane of his abdomen, down to his - downwards, _ fuck, just a little bit farther  _ \- Dan shoves away his shameless thoughts. 

He wasn't hard, but he sure as hell will be if Phil keeps this up. His chest is heaving up and down and he hopes Phil can't feel it. Even though every fiber of his body is screaming at him to stay still, to just let Phil do whatever he may or may not be unconsciously doing, he forces himself to start shifting around in order to alert Phil of his consciousness. It does the trick; immediately, Phil's hand is scrambling off of him, out of his shirt, and curling securely around his waist.

Dan’s heart skips a beat, wondering what it could all mean. Was Phil doing it unconsciously or not? Was he awake or not? Is he dreaming or not?  _ Am /I/ dreaming? _ He decides to stop overthinking it, because he would never stop thinking about it and it would consume his life, and his thoughts, and everything encompassed with it. Instead, he sighs, relieved that he’s still in Phil’s arms. Dan is too afraid to open his eyes, but he can almost feel something staring at him, like a sixth sense has awoken within him, prickling the skin of his neck. 

Then, he hears it. The unmistakable, familiar, sleep-heavy voice that sends his heart hurtling to his throat.

“Dan?” Dan relaxes the muscles on his face, trying to mold it into the perfectly lax poker-face. Every bone of his body, every morsel of his flesh, every twitch of his skin freezes. “Are you awake?”

Dan sighs through his nose (he can only hold his breath for so long), but keeps playing along; there’s a vat of curiosity boiling over his ability to think. A light touch brushes along his temple. Dan feels his eyelids flutter. Fingers graze over his curly mess of bed-hair. The touches are still as euphoric as the previous ones; it still has his mind reeling, it still has his toes curling, it still has his breath hitching, but the soft, tenderness of Phil’s touches almost has him purring, and Dan wonders - not for the first time - if it’s possible for him to physically purr. Is it one of his superhuman qualities? He desperately hopes it isn’t. 

Sparks of tingles lazily pass through his skin. Warmth blooms from his chest, spreading through every vessel of blood, to the ends of his skin, as Phil continues his ministrations. Dan wonders when Phil will stop; he would willingly stay in this position forever, if it were possible. Right when he’s about to open his eyes to see if Phil’s eyes are more blue in the morning light, Dan feels a hot breath wash over his jaw line, ghosting over his mouth like a feather. His heart rate spikes violently.  _ Is Phil going to kiss me- _

There’s a sudden knocking at the door. Dan jolts, his eyes-lids flinging open and his heart banging against his ribcage, seemingly intending to escape.

“Wake up, lovebirds, we’re going out today.” Martyn’s cheeky voice drawls, muffled by the door that’s blissfully blocking his view. Phil is already sitting up, scowling at the door. Dan doesn’t miss the blush that rises from the pale beginnings of his collarbone, bleeding to his ears. Something tugs in his chest. It tugs again when Phil’s crystal-blue eyes lock with his own.

“Sorry,” Phil grimaces, “my brother can be…” he looks away, and Dan can practically feel the discomfort radiating from Phil’s body. 

“‘S alright,” Dan replies breathlessly; he’s secretly in pain because was Phil just about to kiss him, or was that his imagination? He shoves the thought down. No, he can’t allow himself to hope. It would be too painful. He can’t allow himself to hope when it’ll just be crushed to smithereens in the end.

“Well, we better get going before -”

There's a heavy thudding on the door, “Oi! We're not gonna wait for you! Get out of bed, twits!” From downstairs, Kath’s distant reprimand can be heard,  _ Martyn! Stop bothering your dear brother…  _

Exhaling, Phil purses his lips, “-before that happens.” Dan sits up gingerly, his shirt falling back in place. His face heats slightly with the memory of what he just felt moments before. He can still feel Phil’s curious fingers scalding against his ribs. “Did you have a good sleep?” Phil’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Hm?” Dan wonders how Phil’s eyes are so crystalline, almost gray, in the morning light, “yeah, I guess.”

“That’s good,” Phil murmurs.

Dan tries not to fidget with the soft duvet as he asks, “How about you?”

“What?”

“Can I at least get a ‘thank you’ for getting you off the floor?” Dan raises an eyebrow.

Phil snorts, “Thanks for being an annoying twat.”

“You’re welcome. At least your back isn’t crooked now.”

“True…” Phil rolls his eyes. “Do you need a shower? Toothbrush?” Phil asks, his fingers playing with the creases in the duvet.

“Y-sure, a shower’d be nice,” Dan mumbles.

Phil nods and, crawling around Dan’s criss-crossed figure, he climbs out of bed. His loose shirt is pale green, bringing out the green highlights in his eyes. “I’ll get a towel.” And then he’s gone with a click of the door, and Dan is left alone in Phil’s childhood room, blinking at the door. Was he imagining the slight hitch of awkwardness there?

***

As soon as he’s out the door, Phil is being bombarded with questions.

“Philip! Finally awake now, hm? When were you gonna tell me about Dan?” Martyn shoots him waggly eyebrows, his eyes sparkling with what seems to be sabotage. 

Phil narrows his eyes, “I  _ did  _ tell you about him, remember? You kinda mentioned it…  _ multiple _ times yesterday.”

When Martyn laughs, Phil shoots him a withering glare. “Yes, but,” Martyn leans in, his voice growing conspiratorial, “when were you gonna tell me you  _ fancied _ him?” Martyn trills, and Phil pushes him away.

“Shove off, Mar, you know I’m a monster before coffee.” Phil groans as he sets up the machine. He stares as it starts whirring to life. When Martyn doesn’t respond, Phil glances up from the machine, and he’s taken aback by Martyn stance - from his widened eyes to the hands clasped in front of his mouth in a look of utter shock. “What?” Phil mutters.

“Don’t tell me…” Martyn’s words are muffled behind his unnecessarily dramatic hands.

“ _ What? _ ” 

“You haven’t realized it, have you? Phil, are you - are you a bloody idio- Phil, you’re smarter than this.” Martyn reaches out to touch Phil’s shoulder, “You’re better than this.”

Shrugging Martyn’s hand away, Phil huffs out a sigh, “I don’t have enough energy to deal with this right now.”

“I bet that’s what you’re telling yourself! Goddamn brain your yer’s.”

“What are you  _ talking _ about?”

“Isn’t it obvious?!”

“What?”

Martyn sighs, and crosses his arms. Finally, after a moment, he murmurs, “Please tell me you like him. You must know that, at least.”

Phil shoots him a weird look, sipping from his coffee, “Why do you even care?”

“Why do I even -” Martyn throws his hands up, exasperated, “I’m your brother! I care at least a little, I hope!”

“I mean, why does it  _ matter  _ so much?”

“Phil, I know how you look at him. I’ve seen it. We’ve all seen it.”

Phil’s teeth clench, and bitterness floods his mouth. It’s not the coffee. “Good to know I’m being scrutinized.”

“Well, you are.” Martyn shoots back, “Mum saw -”

“Oh, here we go again,” Phil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “look, mum’s just seeing things, alright?” 

Martyn deadpans, “You don't need to be good at aura readings to know-” 

“Okay! You don't have to say -”

“But I was just gonna say, to know that you're-” 

“Shut up, Martyn. I  _ will _ punch you.”

Martyn shakes his head wistfully, “Phil, I hope you know what you're doing.”

Phil snorts into his drink, “Really? That was the most cliché thing I've ever heard.” 

Martyn rolls his eyes, “that may be true, but you know what I mean.” 

Phil takes a lengthy breath and leans against the counter. He feels Martyn’s gaze on him. “No. I don't know what you mean,” he respond to his coffee.

"Phil! It's bloody obvious!"

"What?" Phil blurts, meeting his brother’s eyes.  

"It's bloody obvious, alright? You've got to do something about it! You can't just wait and let the opportunity run away!"

Phil finds he's unable to come up with words. But as he repeats Martyn's flurried speech through his mind, the realization dawns upon him. "You're right!" Phil murmurs, his voice filled with something akin to wonderment, "I'm too obvious! I've got to change something about it," he mutters, mostly to himself now, "but how? Hiding feelings is hard enough, but now expression too?" He wonders if Dan has seen through his obvious feelings.

"Oh my  _ god _ ," Martyn rubs a hand over his face, "you're doomed," he declares. 

Phil nods, "right. It would be too hard." 

"No! Not like that!" Martyn whisper-yells, dragging a hand down his face, “Oh, Phil…”  

Phil ignores him, the cogs in his brain spinning, "I'll just have to try to persuade him… I’ll show him that… that I hate him, or something. Yeah, that’ll work. That should do it... hm." 

"What the  _ fuck! _ Are you even listening to me?!"

Phil blinks, “What? Yeah, ‘course I am! It’s gonna be so hard to conceal it though…” Phil smooths a thumb over his jaw, lost in thought. It’s silent for a few moments, and then Martyn is interrupting his thoughts.

“You should tell him,” Martyn whispers, as if he’s afraid of the reaction it'll evoke. 

Phil frowns instantly. “Tell him…” he mutters to his dark coffee. “Yeah, uh,” he offers a shrewd smile, “not happening.” 

“It's pretty obvious he likes you too, Phil, if that's what you're concerned about,” Martyn’s eyes are lighter than his, slightly paler, with hints of gray undertones. He has to look away from the oddly sincere pools.

Phil laughs, a short, bitter bark. “Are you serious? Are you actually-”

“Why would I lie about this, Phil?” Martyn pleads. “At least  _ try _ to see where I'm-” 

“No. Just-“ Phil huffs, “ _ no _ .” 

“Philip, listen to me,” Martyn persists. Phil can’t listen. He’s slamming the hot beverage down and storming out of the kitchen. Just as he's leaving, he hears Martyn call out, “it’s for your own good, Philip!”

Well, at least he knows he’s being too obvious. He’ll have to convince Dan that he doesn’t like him in that way… but how?

***

It feels odd to be at the beach when it’s not a dream. It’s real this time. The Dan besides him is real. Phil almost expects the dragon to pop out, and when he shares a glance with Dan, he knows he’s not the only one with the thought. 

Now, Phil is not so sure about how his new plan will work, because he’s already failing; he can’t seem to rip his gaze away from Dan. Something about his chocolate eyes keep drawing him in, or maybe it’s the way the rays of sun catches the contours of his topless body, catches the way the light bounces over the edge of a collarbone. Who ever thought the beach would be a good idea? Did Dan always have small freckles on his shoulders or-

“Phil?” 

Blinking, Phil rips his gaze away and squints hard at the sun, “hm?” The waves of the ocean are shimmering, and Phil can see the the red dot of Cornelia’s curls amidst the vastness of blue.

“Have you put sunscreen on? You’re skin’s gonna burn, mate.”

Phil can feel Dan’s eyes roving over his body, and his mouth dries. “No,” he clears his throat, suddenly aware of the heavy pulse of heat on his skin, “I forgot about it.” He was too upset with Marty this morning, goddamnit. 

Dan hums, “Don’t think Kath will approve.”

Phil smiles, “No, she wouldn’t.”

The sand is hot beneath his feet as they trot over to where his mother and father are sitting, on their respective plastic chairs, beneath a large umbrella. His mother is wearing a yellow sundress, which flutters lightly in the breeze, and a straw hat with a pink bow. As they approach, Kath’s blue eyes widen considerably. Without a word, she leans over to dig something out of a duffel bag, and a bottle of sunscreen is shoved into Phil’s hand.

“Young man, we do not want another sunburn incident now, do we?” Kath leans back into her chair as Nigel peers over.

“No,” Phil murmurs, voice small, just as Dan whispers, “Sunburn incident?”

Phil uncharacteristically ignores him as he pointedly aims his gaze at the weighted bottle of sunscreen. Nigel, however, hears Dan. Of course he does, with his stupid enhanced hearing and all. 

“Oh, it was a sight to see, Daniel,” Nigel grins, “He was red as a tomato!” Phil freezes. “I have pictures, in fact-” Nigel reaches for his phone.

“No, no, he doesn’t,” Phil glares at his father, “really, he doesn't. Actually… Dan and I were just heading to, uh, to…”

“To the bar,” Dan chimes in. Phil could kiss him. In fact, he  _ wants _ to kiss him. Every fiber in his being  _ burns _ to kiss his plush lips. They look even more kissable today, maybe because his face is flushed from the heat, making his lips appear blood-red. And those  _ eyes _ , and his curly hair, which is just begging to be tugged.

“Yes, the bar,” Phil stutters, before dragging Dan away by the elbow. Once they arrive, they’re engulfed in the chatter of voices and a trill of a marimba. The smell of sweat and sunscreen is pungent, but is layered with the woody scent of alcohol. “Thanks for that,” Phil sighs as he pops the cap of the sunscreen open. They wait in line behind a few bikini-clad women. “My family just loves to embarrass me,” the sunscreen is brilliant white and pasty as he spreads it over one of his arms.

Dan chuckles, “We’ve all been there. I’ve had a whole tan phase myself.” Phil quirks an eyebrow and Dan shakes his head, “It was a nightmare. Worst mistake ever.”

“Couldn't have been that bad,” Phil mumbles, spreading sunscreen over the other arm now. 

Dan shoots him a deadpan. Phil is just about to respond when his sensitive ears pick up on a voice, “Damn, is that man sex on legs.” Phil’s head jerks up, glancing around. A few moments later, he notices the girl: thin, olive skin stretched over a beach chair, sandy blonde - probably dyed - hair, light eyes - she’s too far away to tell the exact color. Before Phil’s staring can be classified as too long, he looks away, but in his peripheral vision, he sees her take a drag from a cigarette. 

“What,” Dan mumbles. He’s probably noticed Phil’s sudden silence. Phil closes his eyes and tries to shake away the unpleasant feeling that’s starting to creep into his skin. 

“Nothing, I-”

“Who, the brunette or sunscreen-man?” Phil hears the lady’s companion ask. He’s sitting besides her on his own respective beach chair, shaded by a large umbrella. 

“Brunette. Although sunscreen-man isn’t bad either. But the brunette sure is cute as fuck.”

“I’d fuck him.”

Phil’s jaw clenches as his whole body grows rigid. Then he feels Dan’s hand at his elbow. “-il, Phil. Phil? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Phil exhales, meeting Dan’s eyes. The chocolate orbs swim with worry. “Nothing,” Phil repeats, shoving away his possessive dragon tendencies and offering a strained smile, “enhanced hearing can get annoying though.”

A small crevice forms between Dan’s eyebrows. Phil wants to reach up and smooth it out, and then dip his thumb in one of those deep dimples upon the smooth surface of his cheek. “What did you hear?” Dan breaks him from his errant thoughts.

“Next!” The bartender calls. The topic slips away, out of Dan’s reach.

“What drink do you want?” Phil murmurs, stepping forward. 

Dan shrugs, “Surprise me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the delay but this story will be one a hiatus rn :( I will return in March for sure (around March 20) since that’s when spring break starts... my schedule is very hectic for now but I will return!!!!   
> Thank you all for kudos and comments <3 big love   
> Tumblr @bluejazzberrys   
> Maybe I’ll post a sneak peek at some point on there uwu


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sea shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh surprise?

A few minutes later, they’re walking towards the glittering ocean, drinks in hand. The drink Phil chose for him is slightly on the sugary side, but it still tastes divine. It’s something chocolatey - or maybe it’s coffee - called  _ Carajillo. _ Phil himself is sipping from a colorful fruity drink.

“How’s yours?” Dan asks, still wondering why Phil is acting strangely.

Phil releases the straw from where it’s caught between lush, red lips. Dan drags his eyes away and swallows dryly. “S’good.” Phil smacks his lips, “you?”

“Good too,” Dan swirls the drink by its plastic stem. “Good choice.” He pauses, “So… you gonna tell me what you heard earlier that’s got you so upset?”

Unexpectedly, Phil releases a short burst of laughter. “I was getting there,” he admits.

“Ah,” Dan raises an eyebrow, before gulping down more of the delicious coffee-flavored liqueur. 

“They were talking about you…” Phil mumbles to his drink.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Oh,” Dan frowns. 

Phil shakes his head “I don't know how to even…” Pausing, Phil sidesteps a group of giggling children covering a parent with sand. After they pass them, Phil glances up at Dan with a sparkle in his eyes. “They basically said you were hot.” Dan snorts. “What- don't believe me?”

Dan feels a blush creep up his skin, to his annoyance, “N-no, it's not that.”

Phil coos, “Aw, look at you- you're blushing!” 

Dan thought his blush would be disguised by the heat, but to his horror, his face turns crimson. “I’m not,” he mutters petulantly. Then, in order to save him from further embarrassment, he asks, “Who said it?”

Glancing around, Phil nods his head to the left, “girl with the sandy hair. Be subtle.” 

Dan whirls around, “the cigarette smoker?” 

Phil grabs onto his elbow and tugs him back around, “I said _ subtle! _ ” Phil hisses. 

“Ok, ok,” Dan rolls his eyes, shaking Phil off. Then he notices that they're nearing the ocean. The pulse of a great wave almost reaches out to his feet. Dan glances over at Phil, and his heart lurches when he sees Phil’s attentive, bright blue eyes already looking at him. “We’re here,” Dan breathes. 

Phil drains his drink - only a few sips remain - and discards it in a nearby waste. Dan mirrors his actions a moment later. As they putter back to the swirling sea-foam, Dan feels the lightest brush of Phil’s fingers on the back of his hand. They're close; the scalding skin contact was probably a mistake. But now Dan wants nothing more than to thread his fingers with Phil’s - to entangle them. If he had more courage, if he were more drunk, maybe he would do it. But now he just lets his fingers graze the soft, pale skin of Phil’s knuckles and lets the sweet burn wash over him, engulf the cavity of his chest, making it hard to breathe. Sneaking a glance at Phil, Dan sees that he's looking out at the surface, seemingly indifferent to the whole hand-fiasco that's giving Dan heart palpitations. 

Dan takes a deep, hitched breath. Phil’s voice calls amidst the sound of the thundering waves, “ready?”

“Are we going all the way in-?”

Phil shrugs, “I was just gonna dip my feet in.” 

Dan releases a breath, “oh good.” They shuffle closer towards the water. A wave is coming, curling over itself and smashing over the tanned sand, flattening and then spreading out. Dan stares down at his feet and watches the white, foaming bubbles froth over his feet, submerging his ankles. 

“Shit, that's cold!” Dan yelps. 

Phil giggles next to him. The water drains back, smoothing over the sand, and Dan can feel its soft tug on his feet as he sinks deeper into the watery granules. Dan suddenly feels an odd sense of lightness; it's like his stresses and concerns are draining away with the surging water, washing away all his worries. His breathes deeply, a sea-salt breeze flooding into his nose. 

“This is nice,” Phil murmurs next to him. Dan hums in agreement. A gray cloud passes over them, draining the landscape from the sweltering rays of sunlight. A monochrome filter crawls over the beach. 

The next wave is equally frigid, but still elicits the stress-lifting feeling, so Dan doesn't mind. “So,” Dan nudges Phil with his shoulder. “Have you ever been in love before?” Phil whips his head to Dan, and Dan’s eyes pop, because  _ where the fricky-frack did that come from? _ What on god’s green earth made him decide that that was a good conversation starter?

Dan is about to backtrack,  _ nevermind, you don't have to answer that…  _ but Phil’s blue eyes grow distant. He aims his cerulean eyes back at the vastless, cloudy-slate horizon and admits, “Well, kind of.” Dan tries not to look too intrigued. He shifts the weight on his feet, shifting the granules of sand around, which are soon washed off by the next wave. “When I was younger, I thought I was in love with one of my best friends.” 

Dan frowns as he notices the melancholic glimmer in Phil’s suddenly shimmery eyes. The start of tears - why? “Hey,” Dan reaches out - he doesn't have to reach that far - and gingerly touches Phil’s arm, drawing those sapphire blues to his own gaze. “You don't have to tell me, Phil.” 

“I know,” Phil smiles simply, “but I want to.”

And so Phil tells him. Phil had a best friend named Ian. They were close - nearly inseparable. They shared all their secrets together, and eventually, Phil had worked up the courage to come out to him. Ian was the first person he had decided to come out to, so Phil had been nervous about it. But he later found that he had no reason to be nervous because Ian was the most accepting person he had ever met. Coincidentally, Ian called himself a gray asexual, and both of them had embraced the new depth of their friendship like they had embraced each other on that day. But one summer, Phil had received a phone call - a call that shattered the pieces of his heart, a call that made him crumple to the floor and cry his eyes out until they were red and puffy. Ian had committed suicide.

“I should’ve seen it coming, since I was his closest friend,” Phil murmurs, staring distantly at the bleak sea.

Dan tries to fight the feeling crawling up his chest. His throat closes in on itself, and suddenly he wants to cry. Why does he want to cry? “Phil,” Dan surprises himself with rawness of his own voice, “Phil, you know it’s not your fault, right?” Phil’s cobalt gaze is misty like the mist that spews around the jagged edges of the rocks. “Phil?” Dan grabs Phil’s cool, pale hand.

At last, Phil’s clouded eyes find his own, “I know,” he whispers, “I used to blame myself for it.” 

Dan swallows thickly, smoothing his thumb against the back of Phil’s hand. “It’s not your fault,” Dan repeats. 

Phil smiles sadly, squeezing Dan’s hand, speeding up Dan’s heart, “Thank you, Dan. I’m over it now, though.” Phil looks down at his feet, wiggling his sand-caked toes - sand that is soon rinsed off with the next cool wave. “Besides,” he adds after a while, slipping his hand out of Dan’s grip to smooth out his jet-black quiff. “I think I like someone else now.”

“O-h?” Dan hates the way his voice cracks. Although he’s proud of the way he still manages to smile, “And who’s that?”

Phil smiles, his blue eyes sparkling, “Why should I tell you?”

“Come on,” Dan scoffs playfully, nudging Phil’s shoulder with his own, “you can tell me.” Although, Dan isn’t sure he wants to know at this point. He wants to cry again, but now for a different reason. It seems his mouth is on auto-pilot though, because for some reason he starts guessing names. “Is it Peej?”

Dan’s breath hitches, heart shriveling as he watches the color rush to Phil’s face - a dark peony. Deep, dark, telling peony. Dan has to look away. He can’t bear to think… he  _ can’t _ . All this time? And he never noticed?  _ An idiot,  _ Dan thinks,  _ I’m an idiot.  _ “For how long?” Dan asks, smirking. He’s got to play along. Even if it feels like every fiber of his heart is being torn apart, bit by bit, piece by piece. 

Phil’s eyes widen, “I didn’t even say who it was.”

“But you’re so obvious, Phil,” Dan chuckles. It’s scratchy - painful. Hurts his diaphragm. “You started blushing as soon as I mentioned Peej’s name.” 

“N-no, I didn’t!” Phil denies, flustered and blushy, and - it’s cute, honestly. Excruciatingly cute. Something on the left side of Dan’s chest  _ aches _ . Dan blinks away the moisture that’s collected in his eyes. A stupid speck of sand has probably sailed into his eye. Obviously.

“You two there!” Someone calls. A man in a purple greasy suit saunters towards them. A purple suit - in this heat? “You two aren’t normal, are you?” Mustache man smiles, showing yellowing teeth. Instinctively, Dan recoils.

“Um-”

“No, we’re perfectly normal,” Phil’s smooth voice takes over. Dan releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Are you now?” Greasy man raises a thick eyebrow.

Dan nods once, albeit jerkily. He has to restrain himself from nodding his head off. Something about the man throws him off, and it's not only his appearance.

“I have a ship-load of ladies waiting for you,” Grease-man smiles a cheshire-cat grin, displaying a row of those yellowing teeth. 

“Um.” Phil blinks.

Dan’s nostrils flare. “No. Thanks.”

“Are you sure? An incubus like you, I’m sure you’ll have  _ plenty _ of treats.”

Dan bristles, a hand drawing into a fist. Fuck this guy. Who the hell does he think he is? Where the fuck did he even come from?

“We’re not interested,” Phil’s voice cuts through, a dark and deep, and menacing, and  _ why do I like that, why is that so hot _ -

Greasy man frowns momentarily, before starting again, that annoying smile making its way to his oily face, “Oh, I assure you-” 

“We’re gay,” Phil interrupts once more.

Dan sighs a breath of relief as the man appears to be stumped. We won, Dan thinks. But then, Dan’s heart skips a beat as the man smirks, and a glint in his eyes spells out one clear word:  _ trouble _ .

“Prove it,” the greasy man narrows his eyes, “kiss.” Just a single word - a powerful, innocent word. 

Dan splutters, heart-rate spiking. His voice sounds warped to his own ears, “That’s-this is absurd.” And problematic, he wants to add.

“He’s my friend,” Phil says firmly. Dan has to restrain himself from wincing.  _ Ouch. Friendzoned.  _

“Hey, wait a minute,” Dan starts, realization coloring his tone. His heart starts to pick up its pace for a different reason now, “I think… I know you.” Dan squints down at the man.

The man shows the yellow-toothed smile, “Do you, Howell? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Yeah,” Dan’s voice turns incredulous, “you-you’re  _ wanted! _ ”

“What,” Phil utters besides him.

“Phil,” Dan’s heart is pounding now. The man in front of them is too powerful to be playing with. He’s heard stories about him - stories of how he’s manipulated people onto his ship using his magic. He’s a powerful demon.  _ Morpheus. _ Morpheus’s sudden cackling is not helping the sweat collecting on Dan’s forehead. “Phil,” Dan repeats, more insistent. His voice is trembling. “Phil, call the police.”

“Not so fast, now,” Morpheus raises his hands, and Dan is forcibly paralyzed. 

“Shit,” Dan grits.  _ Too late.  _ One moment, they were conversing casually on the beach, and the next they’re in this mess. How did that happen?

“Dan!” Phil, hands clenching into fists, glares at Morpheus, “You’ve chosen the wrong people to mess with, bastard.”

Morpheus raises a thick eyebrow, “Have I? Please, entertain away, young dragon.” Dan grits his teeth so hard he can feel it to his ears. 

Then, gracefully maneuvering his arms, Phil draws out huge masses of water from the ocean. If Dan wasn’t paralyzed, his jaw would be dropped open right now. For a heart-surging, dizzying moment, Dan sees the barest flicker of fear pass through the Morpheus’s onyx eyes. 

Alas, his heart is stomped down to the ground in the next moment. It happens in a blur: the powerful rocket of water that Phil has so masterfully crafted is reflected straight back into his unsuspecting face.

Phil yelps, the force of the giant wave knocking him over.

“ _ Phil! _ ” Dan strains to crane his head to look at Phil, but Morpheus notices and closes his fist.

“Nope. Back in place,” He chides. Dan’s forced to face the front.

“Fuck,” Dan groans, his stomach curdling. His skin crawls; he wishes he could help Phil. He wishes he knew how to use his powers. He wishes they never came to the beach.

The wet sounds of Morpheus’s footsteps jolts Dan from his panic-fog, “Disgusting little creatures,” Morpheus spits over Phil’s coughing face. “Fucking dragons.” Dan’s heart stops as Morpheus leans over and hauls Phil up by the throat. Phil’s knuckles turn white as they grasp onto the vice grip that’s slowly tightening over his neck.

“No!” Dan screams, “Help! Someone!” 

The horrible, broken sounds of Phil’s choking is drowned out by Morpheus’s sinister chuckling, “No one is here, Howell. Not within a few-mile radius, anyway.”

“Stop it, please!” Dan sobs, “you’ll kill him!”

“Dan… I…” Phil rasps, and Dan’s stomach plunges as Phil’s eyes roll back into his head. A thunderbolt strikes straight into Dan’s chest, stopping his heart. 

His vision burns static-white as the words eject from his mouth, “Stop it, I’ll go!” Dan closes his eyes, squeezing out a steady trail of tears, choking around a sob, “I’ll go with you. I’ll go on your ship.” There’s a thud, in which Dan assumes Phil’s body has hit the ground.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Morpheus’s smug voice drawls. Something dark curls deep in Dan’s chest, seeping into his delicate tissues. Tendrils of black ink lace around his heart and squeeze. Over the ringing in his ears, he can barely hear Phil’s ragged coughing.

“Alright, pretty boy.” Morpheus grins, “You’re coming with me.”

And then, Dan’s world turns black. The last thing he hears before he enters the void is Phil’s “No, Dan! Don’t do this!” Echoing in his brain, the voice warped, as if he’s hearing it from underwater.

***

There are noises, soft and muffled. People chattering. The clink of a glass. The scratch of a fork on a porcelain plate. Dan shifts. He feels a pressure on his wrists and he can't move his arms from where they're bent behind his back. He's tied up. The chair he's sitting on is wooden and rickety. Slitting his eyes open, Dan can see the vibrant flashes of dresses, serving platters hovering in the air, overflowing with dark, indigo-colored drinks. Wine, if he had to guess.

He's in the middle of what seems to be a sophisticated party. Then Dan jolts awake because Morpheus is sitting right before him, and is sliding a glass of sable-colored drink towards him. “Welcome back,” Morpheus smirks, “you’re lucky you’re an incubus, Howell.” 

“Whuh-?” Dan’s head is still swimming. Then he realizes where the odd, unstable feeling of dizziness is originating from. The wooden floor is rocking gently, swaying too and fro. He’s on the ship. 

“This ship is run by incubi,” Morpheus continues, interrupting Dan’s mini panick attack. Then Dan realizes the pounding in his head is really a ringing… and the ringing is really a screaming…  _ voices _ . There are screaming voices on this ship.

“Y-you’re human trafficking,” Dan’s sits up straighter, fists balling up as he shoots a glare at Morpheus.

Morpheus, the bastard, smiles, his eyes twinkling, “Ah, you’re a smart cookie, aren’t ya?”

“Fuck you,” Dan nearly spits.

Morpheus throws his head back and lets out a loud guffaw. “I like you,” he grins, “Now drink,” he raises a hand, and a round goblet of liquid lifts from the glass and suspends into the air. Against his will, Dan’s mouth falls open and the sphere of liquid smoothly slides inside his mouth. Wincing, he’s forced to swallow it down. It burns his lungs and gives the room an odd, golden blur. 

“What the fuck is that,” Dan growls, his vision foggy.

“Oh, this is really just alcohol, believe me.”

Dan’s eyes flare, “Alcohol, my  _ ass _ . You drug them with this, huh?”

The man chuckles lowly again, “Back at it again, detective.”

“Fuck. You.” Dan seethes, “They’ll catch you, you know.”

“Who?” The man scoffs, “your saviors? Your valued  _ po-po _ ?”

Dan’s eyebrows furrow, “No, you fucking-”  _ Dan!  _ He pauses. Is the drink making him hallucinate now? Or did he really just hear Phil's voice?  _ Dan! _ “What the fuck is in this drink,” Dan snaps.

Morpheus grins, opening his mouth to respond, when suddenly multiple things happen at once. The ceiling rips open as a mythical creature crashes through it, eliciting horrified screams from the party-goers, who start to flee. The creature has landed on one knee, bracing itself on its arm - or is that a wing? - Morpheus jumps off his chair, his face twisted and enraged, but then the creature lifts its head _. _ Its eyes are pulse-fire, ethereal blue, cat-eyed slits, he has fangs, his hair has a navy-blue tinge to it, he has a tail, and full, leathery, inky-blue wings, he’s shirtless, all firm, delicious, corded muscle, and the pale complection of his body contrasts magnificently with the deep blue wings, and Dan almost wants to cry at the beautiful being standing before him. In fact, Dan thinks his eyes are watering.

Because, surely, that can’t be… “Phil?” 

In one swift movement, Phil gracefully grabs Morpheus, who screams like he’s seen a ghost and wiggles like a worm in Phil’s grip. In another context, Dan would have laughed aloud. Now he stares, stunned, as Phil mercilessly flicks Morpheus overboard.

There’s a distant shout of, “Fire!” from somewhere, which sends Dan’s heart skyrocketing. Instantly, Phil’s next to Dan, shielding him with his wings.

“Phil!” Dan’s voice wobbles, desperately wanting to reaching out to touch him, it’s a burning need, raging deep within his bones,  _ anything _ \- but he’s stuck to his chair, hands still wound tight behind his back, “Phil, you’re okay,” Dan breathes.

“Yep,” Phil winces. Dan shoots him a worried gaze. “Don’t worry, my wings are basically bullet-proof,” Phil says around clenched teeth.

“But it hurts,” Dan bites his lip. 

“A bit,” Phil confirms after a beat of hesitation. Dan frowns. Why is Phil holding his breath? “Shit,” Phil mutters, swallowing audibly.  

“What?” Dan’s hates the way his voice trembles. The bullets stop. Suddenly, Dan notices that Phil’s face is starting to look a little green. “Y-you have  _ motion sickness?! _ ” Dan screeches.

Closing his eyes, Phil winces, his voice strained, “On ships it’s particularly awful.”

“Untie me,” Dan demands. “I’m guessing you have limited time in this form, so we better get out of here fast.”

“Good idea,” Phil breathes, and then, with sharp, knife-like talons, he carefully cuts the ropes binding Dan’s wrists. Dan gasps as an arm wraps around his waist. “Hold on tight, it’s gonna be a wild ride, Danny,” Phil murmurs in his ear. Dan clamps his mouth shut in order to prevent the delirious squeal that’s threatening to bubble out.

And then, his shoes are grazing the dirty wooden panels, and he’s floating in the air, buoyant and light. His stomach erupts into butterflies as the wind whistles in his ears - gushing around him about Phil’s powerful wings. It’s nighttime. He can see the golden glow of lamps and hotels alighting the shoreline, and for a moment, Dan wonders how long he was in that cursed ship.

Phil suddenly grunts and his arms tighten around Dan. They’re close to the shore now, but not too close - about fifty feet more.

“Dan, you’re not gonna like this.” 

Dan clings tight to Phil, burying his face into his shoulder. “ _ Now _ what?” Dan shivers. The air makes everything multiple degrees colder, goose-flesh rising over his skin. 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Phil huffs, “are you cold?”

Dan hesitates, “... just a bit.”

Phil suddenly swoops down, dropping by thirty feet, eliciting a rather embarrassing squeal from Dan’s mouth. 

“Sorry, Dan, I…” Phil coughs, “I can’t hold this form for much longer.”

“What?!”

Phil groans, “Shit. This won’t be pleasant.”

“Phil, wait- can’t you just hold it, like, for thirty more seconds?!”

“Don’t worry, I’m an excellent swimmer.”

And then they’re falling… and falling… falling into the tremendous sea below.

The first few seconds are agonizingly cold. Frigid water surges around him, invading his skin, crawling into his ears, into every pore of his skin. It’s black and cold and dark and lonely… so very lonely. And then, just as he’s starting to run out of oxygen and starts thinking about how nice it would be to give in, to embrace death’s welcoming arms, there are firm, warm hands pulling him up to the surface. Dan’s heart roars in his ears as he gulps down fresh, cool oxygen. He can feel Phil’s body pressed close behind him, providing him some body heat, but not nearly enough. 

“Are you okay?” Phil breathes. 

“F-f-fine,” Dan shudders.

“I’m sorry, Dan,” There’s a soft, fleetingly wet feeling on Dan’s cheek. His heart jolts; was that a kiss? No, he probably just imagined that. It was likely just a splash of water. 

“Th-that’s okay,” Dan’s teeth chatter.

“Okay,” Phil hooks an arm around Dan’s chest, pressing Dan closer, lips grazing the shell of his ear, “sorry if I’m in your space, but I need to hold on tight because-”

“It’s fine,” Dan interrupts, “Just get us to shore,  _ please _ .”

Suddenly, there’s a gigantic wave coming for them - maybe twenty feet tall. 

“Phil,” Dan’s voice grows urgent, “Phil? Phil, what is  _ that _ ?”

“A wave I generated.” Phil huffs, and Dan can feel the curve of Phil’s smile against his ear, sending shivers down his spine for different reasons, “It’ll get us to shore faster. We’re gonna ride it.”

“We?”

Phil chuckles. 

***

Dripping wet, they stand shivering on the shore. Dan's hair is wet and curly, but luckily Phil has managed to find a leftover towel and wrap it around his shivering frame. He had found a complementary one for himself as well. 

However, he doesn't overlook the red and blue lights that are flashing over the moon-lit sand. There’s police crawling all over the beach - police looking for them. 

“We should tell them about that bloody bastard,” Dan mutters, tugging the red-and-white-striped towel tighter around himself.

“We’re the ones they’re looking for.”

Dan frowns before whirling around to look at him. “Sorry, mate, I think the water is blocking my ears.” 

Phil sighs, “One of Morpheus’s gunmen called in for property damage.”

Dan stares at him, “He did  _ what?! _ ”

“It’s true,” Phil continues, miserable, “I heard him as we were leaving.” 

“Okay…” Dan paces, “okay… fucking hell.” Dan pinches his nose with a thumb and forefinger, “so we’re, what, fugitives or something?”

Phil shrugs, “for now.” A blindingly bright flashlight ripples over the pale sand. 

“Hey, you two!” A cop calls. His boots crunch over the wet sand as he treks closer to them. 

Phil freezes as Dan mutters, “Shit.” Dropping his towel, Dan raises his trembling hands.

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” Phil hisses. 

Dan shoots him a look, “What other choice do we have?”

Phil huffs, grabbing Dan’s hand and yanking it down. Dan deadpans at him, “Phil, please don’t do something impulsive.”

Phil grins, and then raises his other hand, causing a large wave to knock into the lone cop, knocking him unconscious. 

“ _ Phil! _ ”

“He’ll be fine,” Phil assures as he meets Dan’s brown, nearly onyx eyes in the moonlight, “Minor injuries, if any at al-”

“Alright, show me your hands,” Another voice interjects sharply. “Hands up! I saw what you did. Attacking a police officer is illegal here.”

Dan is the epitome of a deer in headlights. The look almost makes Phil want to laugh.

“Now,” Phil grunts, “now we run.”

Ignoring Dan’s sound of protest, Phil grabs Dan’s hand, and they bolt out of there, around the sandy dunes, past street vendors, past the crowd of people bustling about in town, past the golden lamp-lights. Phil finds a spot in a secluded, narrow alleyway, “over here,” Phil tugs Dan forwards, waiting for him to go inside. 

“Phil, there's no way we can both fit in there,” Dan deadpans, a hand resting on his stomach, probably smoothing out the phantom stitch there - one that Phil can feel in his own stomach. Voices echo around the corner, filtering into Phil’s sensitive ears.

His breath hitches, “we don't have a choice, Dan. Get in,” and then he's practically shoving Dan through the narrow alley. Phil ducks into it afterwards, breathing hard. 

“Fuckin… hell…” Dan puffs. Phil hums in agreement, his heart jack-hammering in his chest and his lungs screaming for air; they're forced to be pressed close. Very close. Dan's nose nearly brushes his own. He can hear the thrumming of Dan’s heart - or maybe it's his own. When Dan glances to the side, his nose brushes Phil’s, and Phil can see the flashes of red and blue flit over the contours of his face. Red and blue from a nearby police car that passes by them. Dan flicks his gaze back to meet Phil’s, and his heart jolts because… he must be hallucinating the way Dan’s eyes flicker down to his mouth. “Now what?” Dan’s eyes are boring into Phil’s. For some reason, a shudder runs down Phil’s spine; why are they so  _ close? _

Dan looks out the alley once again, displaying a peek of his collarbone and the length of his neck, to the peak of his adam’s apple. Phil swallows thickly as the air around him fogs with the delicious scent of  _ Dan _ .

“Phil?”

Phil can barely hear him past the purring in his ears. Dan must know what showing your neck like that to a dragon means. It’s a beacon for mating.

“Phil, are you okay?”

Dipping his thumb into the scoop of Dan’s collarbone, Phil leans forwards - he doesn't have to move much - and dips down slightly to get a stronger whiff of Dan’s scent, “You smell so  _ good _ ,” Phil groans. 

A stuttered gasp emits from Dan as his hand flies to Phil’s shoulder and  _ squeezes _ , dragging Phil’s gaze back up to Dan’s eyes. A sliver of syrupy brown encircles huge black holes that are Dan’s pupils. Phil can feel Dan’s breath on his face, he can feel the length of Dan’s body pressed against him, he can feel the heaving of Dan's chest, he can feel the heat pooling low in his gut, he can feel the lingering waves of adrenaline blasting through his bloodstream. He wants to move closer, to fill the gap between them, to taste remnants of the salty sea on his lips, to-

“Um.” A small voice breaks the electric-heated air, cutting the tightening string between them. Phil drags his eyes away from Dan’s full lips. There’s a young boy in tattered clothing, about ten years old. His blue eyes are round like dinner plates, and filled with something like guilt, “Sorry, can I just get through…”

“Oh, of course.” Avoiding Phil’s eyes, Dan mumbles, “sorry.” Dan directs his eyes back to Phil as he speaks, testing the words, “we were… just about to leave anyway.”

“Yes,” Phil confirms, “yes, sorry we’ll just-” Phil walks to the end of the alley, looks right, then left, and then tilts his head back to Dan,  _ coast clear. _ They exit the alley, and the small boy scampers out after them. 

“We should probably be heading home,” Phil sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, hoping it’s not as burning-red as it feels (currently it feels like it’s been branded with a hot stick). “Mum’s probably worried sick.”

Dan chuckles, “Yes, good idea.” 

It didn’t happen, Phil thinks. There’s just no way… no way that could’ve happened. Pretending it didn’t happen washes away the pain. Washes the feelings away. Like the ocean - the ocean he later dreams about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im guessing this chapter probably seemed kinda crackhead and random but it's one of my favs hehe  
> thank you for all your kudos and comments :)) they make my day so much thank uwu  
> follow my tumblr @bluejazzberrys for sneak peeks ;)  
> cya in a month (maybe earlier if i get time but def a month)  
> omg yall aren't ready for the next chapter *insert evil smile emoji*


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